#I want him to be in a fucking tizzy and I want it to be bc he’s being like Bruce specifically

[oetscop]

one more situation from Bathroom Tomb Event

[starlooove]

Whoever said batfam was getting too chummy ur right. I want them to stop being happy now sorry

[luvyeni]

⠀ ( drabble ) pretty girl ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 앤톤 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ anton love having sex with you , like really  ヾ

bf!anton・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ softdom!anton, praise kink, size kink, unprotected sex‎ ‎ wc ・ ‎0.5k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. inspired by this but i just need smth rlly rlly romantically raunchy maybe like size training or “making it fit” with anton 😔 maybe with like body worship?

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 anton has really put everyone in a tizzy lately everyone is thirsting over him … i support 💯…

you looked so pretty; staring up at him with teary eyes as he rubbed his cock between your puffy folds. “so cute baby.” he bent down to kiss your wet cheeks. “so fucking cute.”

“you want it baby?” you nodded. “s-so bad , please fuck me.” he groaned, cock twitching against your cunt. “okay pretty i’ll give you what you want.” he tapped the head of his cock on your sensitive clit. “fill you up with my fat cock.” you moaned as he pressed the tip of his cock at your waiting hole. “a-anton.”

“fuck baby.” he let out a gasp; your tiny cunt sucked in his length. “so-so big.” you moaned, the feeling of his cock stretching you out. “mh’ not gonna fit.” you pushed at his waist. “no no princess.” he grabbed both your wrist. “we’re gonna make it fit, you can take it.” he smiled down at you — like his cock wasn’t bullying your cervix. “you’re such a good girl, you can take it.” 

you were mumbling a bunch of nonsense as he fully seethed himself inside of you. “sh-shit good girl , took my cock fully.” he kissed your breast. “gonna fuck your pretty pussy.” he groaned, slowly moving your hips. “god fuck you’re so pretty.” you moaned as his praise. “you like that baby?” he hissed. “you like when i praise your pretty body when i fuck you?” you nodded. “so-so much, please keep going.” 

“i love it too baby -fuck- love the way you clench around me when i tell you how much i love fucking you.” you both moaned out. “love the way you twitch under me when i kiss your prey tittes…” bending down to kiss your bust. “fuck baby just like that.” he began to speed up. “anton!” you squealed. “anton please!” he pressed down on your stomach. “you see that , that’s me in your stomach.” he cursed. “fuck.”

your nails dug into his buff arms; the gym doing him good these past weeks, hips lifting up only for him to hold them down, plunging his cock deeper inside. “anton im gonna cum!” your head thrown back. “yeah?” he moaned when you began to clench down on him. “gonna cum on my cock.” he rubbed little figure 8’s on your clit. “fuck yeah cum for me pretty.” he grunted. “cream my cock for me.” 

your body began to convulse as you came, moaning the boys name over and over as your orgasm took over. “fuck that’s baby , cum all over my cock -fuck- im gonna cum!” he pressed his lips against yours , kissing you tenderly soaking up all your moans as he came inside you. he pulled away with a smile on his face , cheeks red from the heat. “good girl.” 

he slowly pulled out; his milky substance pooling out of you. “look at that , pussy is all messy because of me.” he kissed your neck. “should help you out, shouldn’t i?” he said , kissing down your stomach. “keep those pretty legs open for me.” you moaned , he smiled looking at your cunt dripping with his cum. “an-anton.” you moaned, he kissed your folds. “so sweet.” he licked your clit.

“gonna eat your pretty pussy until you’re shaking for me.”

©️LUVYENI

[dreamsteddie]

Once Steve and Eddie come out to the broader world, Eddie's floodgates open, and before interviewers can even think to ask about his "long-term partner and love of my life" Eddie starts gabbing about Steve almost as soon as a microphone is put near his face.

At first, Eddie refuses any and all requests to be on talk shows or long-form interviews. Steve himself has no desire to be interviewed ever, and Eddie wants the media hype to die down before he makes any big appearances off the stage. He knows that if he does the conversation will be a glorified investigation into his private life no holds bared.

So Eddie takes the occasional question after a show or on the red carpet but always dominates the conversation and finishes quickly. He's always dropping little tidbits about Steve, even if it's just talking about whether or not he was able to make the show or how handsome he looks in their matching outfits today.

Once the hype dies down and the media vultures aim their beaks at another celebrity, Eddie agrees to do a couple of talk shows with the rest of the band.

Everything is normal. The focus is on their next leg of the tour and the music video they released last week that went viral. Right up until the last three or so minutes when the interviewer asks, kindly, how his boyfriend Stevie is doing.

Stevie.

As in Eddie's Stevie.

The name only Eddie and Robin have ever called him. The name that used to make Steve flush so pretty when they first started drifting together. The name that still makes Steve give him one of those pleased little smiles that make his heart pitter-patter in his chest years later.

Eddie's hackles are immediately raised at the audacity of this stranger to talk about his boyfriend so familiarly. His shoulders rise, eyes narrowing ready to say something scathing when the rest of the band notices and steps in. Jeff drops a not-so-friendly hand on Eddie's shoulder while Freak steps in to very loudly tell a funny story about the last time Steve joined them on the road. Emphasizing "Steve" a little too much as he does.

When Eddie finally gets to stalk off stage he's let himself get worked into a tizzy. Logically, it's not a big deal but Eddie has always been territorial when it came to Steve and has been even more on edge since they came out. The idea of anyone outside of their family acting like they know them, know him, just because he's married to Rockstar Eddie Munson and shows up in the occasional gossip rag makes him so fucking mad.

As soon as he's backstage he's dialing Steve's number, impatiently running one hand through his hair as the phone rings and rings. As soon as he hears the beginning of Steve's standard WASPy "Hello, this is the Harrington-Buckley residence, Steve speaking" greeting Eddie launches into a long rant about "the audacity of media vultures."

Steve doesn't say a word the entire time, just letting Eddie vent out his frustrations. At the end, Steve lets the silence linger for a little bit before speaking.

"Hey babe?"

"Yeah, Stevie?"

"I don't know how to tell you this but you've been referring to me exclusively as 'Stevie' since we came out. I'm pretty sure when we made the announcement you said 'This is my Stevie. He's been my partner for six years.'"

".....what?"

"In fact, I'm sure that's exactly what you said because Robin replaced all my nametags at work with ones that said 'My Stevie' because she has the sense of humor of a middle schooler."

"God fucking damn it!"

They hang up not long after. When Eddie looks up for the first time since he dialed Steve's number he's met with the rest of the band and their personal crew all wearing various faces of exasperation.

Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, he rocks on the balls of his feet and says "Sooooooo...I may have overreacted."

----

The next day, despite Eddie's hopes that his outburst wasn't that noticeable, his clearly irate face is the subject of every magazine and gossip rag at the grocery store.

Robin frames her favorite one and gives it to Eddie for his birthday.

[bunnys-kisses]

Please can I get sourdough bread, with tea, a vodka shot and pina colada please for Lando :) thanks bunny x

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order then hit up the menu! i'm always accepting orders so please submit away! submit a bunch of prompts, do whatever! and thank you to this lovely anon for a great order! thank you, thank you and enjoy!

sourdough bread ("i'm going to breed you.") + tea (semi-public/public sex) + vodka shot (rough sex) + pina colada (pregnancy) served by lando norris (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, pregnancy & breeding kink, rough sex, semi-public sex, couch sex, clothed sex, quick & dirty

in the world of racing, everything seemed to move fast. from the changing of locations to the race themselves. everything moved with an efficiently and speed that it would leave most people in a tizzy.

lando loved it, he loved the intensity of it all. it paired well with the frequent thump in his chest, the need to move. to be fast, to win. that need for speed didn't end with the track, it was also how he fucked.

he fucked like an animal, while he loved you to bits, the intimacy you shared was rough and frantic. and in all fairness it made you core warm when his cock quickly hit the back of your pussy.

it started in the driver's room, the tiny bit of privacy that could be afforded during the weekend. lando knew that he should've just waited until you got back to the motor home for mclaren and gagged you to keep you quiet. but, after the rush of qualifier, he needed his girl now.

with the door to the driver's room closed and locked, lando was crowded your space right up against the couch. his hands on your face as he pulled you towards him.

"i want you." he said between his kisses, his hands gropping at your ass, "i want to breed you. "i'm going to breed you." his voice was low before he was kissing at your neck once more.

"can't wait till tonight?" you asked as he grabbed at your breasts, feeling the flesh between his hands. you swallowed back the intense feeling of lust, your body felt hot all over.

"no, no." he purred as his hands hiked up the cute skirt you wore. he needed you, it wasn't a want. it was a need. like he needed water after a race or the weight of a trophy in his hands.

he had a good feeling for the weekend, if the qualifier was anything. luck was on his side, so that meant he had to use it to get his girl nice and pregnant. he got you onto the couch and your skirt pushed up to your waist.

you were in an awkward angle, with your knees at your chest and you trying not to hit your beloved boyfriend in the face with your sandal clad foot. lando got your panties off and his cock out of his pants. there was no time to waste.

usually lando would spend hours taking your beautiful, gorgeous, loving girlfriend apart. but soon he'd be back out on that track and he needed to be quick. he kept you in a nice mating press and sank his cock into your.

his pace was quick, his adrenaline was rushing. you had your knees pressed into your chest as he fucked you from a good angle. he was really working his hips against you. he panted, "that's it. fuck you'res beautiful. jesus christ, i need you. you're everything to me." he made a soft noise and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from being too loud.

and he was worried about you being the loud one.

he pushed your further onto the couch and kissed you heavily as he moved against you. he gripped onto your thighs as he used it as leverage to fuck you heavily. he panted and felt his orange shirt cling to his back as he thrusted back and forth.

"you're perfect." he groaned, it was hard to keep quiet when he was balls deep inside of you and the need for you grew in his throat. even when he was fucking you, he still wanted more.

"keep quiet, lando. someone might hear us."

"if it gets you pregnant, then i don't care if they hear. you fuckin' blow my mind every time." he chuckled as he continued to hit his cock up against you.

he was practically in your cervix with how hard he was fucking you. he was a man on a mission when it came to making sure his girl got pregnant. he groaned a little bit before you grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him into a searing kiss.

the weight of him on top of you felt good as he thrusted into you. you whined into the kiss as you core throbbed as your felt your toes curl.

his lips remained on yours as you let out a soft groan. you held onto the couch as you clenched around him. you whimpered into the kiss as you came. you felt hot all over and the intensity all over you. it made having clothed sex feel difficult, the way your blouse stuck to your sweaty back. he continued to thrust into you, his cock hit you just right.

he came inside of you and he felt the heat throb in his body. he almost dropped his entire weight onto you.

as you both took a breath to compose yourself. your cheeks stung with a blush. you pushed the hair out of your eyes. lando went in for a soft kiss.

you both froze into the kiss as you heard a knocking on the door. you both looked at one another and lando was quick to get his cock back into his pants and you were quick to get your panties back on.

"hey mate." oscar said on the other side of the door, "don't really care what you're doing in there with your girl. but hurry up, they wanna take photos."

you, lando and even oscar all thought you were going to die of embarrassment.

-

"i don't want to hear it." you said with your arms crossed. it was the start of the new season, and you returned from the multi-month break with a swell in your middle.

of course everyone knew that you and lando were expecting a child. but you two had spent most of the holidays with family, and didn't really see much of the grid (except for photos that lando shared with the driver group chat), but to see your swollen middle up close and personal was something else.

oscar had his hands on his hips as he said, "i wasn't going to say anything. i'm happy that you two are having a child. it's cute."

you raised your eyebrows at him, "he wasn't conceived in the driver's room." you said, then looked away for a moment, "it probably happened on a flight if you want to split hairs about it."

oscart nodded, "well. congratulations." the poor driver would almost catch you or fully catch you in the act over the previous season. while he didn't see anything to explicit, the positions were compromising at best and pornographic at worse.

he was worried that his teammate was taking some kind of drug to stay hard as much as he did.

lando came over and draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling it to the solid muscle of his chest. he smiled at his teammate and asked, "you bothering my wife there, mate?"

oscar chuckled, "just seeing how she's doing." he turned away and said, "i'll see you love birds later." <3

[luveline]

this is quite vague, sorry, but would you please write more for coworker James? maybe him and r are sneaking around to kiss or they go out or Sirius and Remus find out. Idk whatever you feel like!!

you and James at the end of a secret date | ty for requesting! fem

You kissed James because you had to. You’ve never felt that pull before, but he’d been sitting there on the step next to you, close enough to see the freckles on his nose and count them, and— well, it’s hard to explain. But you kissed him. 

So far, it’s working in your favour. 

“It’s fine,” James says, breathless where he’s kissing your neck. 

“No, I think I broke it,” you say, squirming away from him to see the lamp where it’s fallen. “Shit.”

James had been kissing you on his sofa and your arm had a mind of its own, moving backward, whacking the body of the lamp where it had been living innocently on the side table. Now it’s in five separate pieces on the floor, but James doesn’t care. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“I’m not.”

You laugh, a little lost in the way he’s touching you. James isn’t being too much, despite your legs spread around his hips to let him kiss you and the slip of your stomach that’s exposed itself. He’s kissing you hard, yes, but he isn’t grabbing anything too sensitive. He isn’t initiating, just kissing. 

“No, ‘cos– ‘cos I’ve broken it, I have, I’ll have to buy you another one. It’s from IKEA, right? It’s–”

“It’s from IKEA,” James affirms, lifting his face from your neck to meet your eyes. His lips are pink from kissing, the tip of his nose ruddied. “I can get another one any hour of the day. Can you stop worrying?” 

“No.” 

James laughs and holds your cheek. “No, I guess you can’t. And I was getting ahead of myself, wasn’t I?” He turns his hand, stroking your under eye with a careful fingernail. “It’s getting late. I should drive you home.” 

You’re crestfallen, then. “Is it?” 

He checks his watch. “S’almost eleven.” 

You have work tomorrow. You’ll have to wake at 6AM. But you don’t want to leave, don’t want James to get off of you, don’t want to go back to the office where you’re still pretending to hate him. 

Not very well, mind you, but pretending all the same. 

You’re distracted from your melancholy by the marvel of him above you. His hair seems darker than ever today, black and shiny and nice to touch, a tad mussed from your hands. You smooth down each wanton curl and get a good look at his eyes. His lashes… it leaves you breathless again, how long they are, how beautiful he seems. 

You’re dating, sort of. Not together. You can’t stay the night, you haven’t fucked, and he doesn’t seem to want to yet. It’s still early days.

You aren’t sure if you’d let him fuck you here, but he hasn’t tried. You’d thought the neck kissing was a precursor, felt heat blooming in your chest and somewhere lower as he held your nape. You can imagine it easily from this position, blood rushing to warm your chest, a tizzied kiss of it to match James’ blush. He’d touch you, and you’d let him. He’d push your shirt the rest of the way up and see you clearly. 

“James…” you say softly. 

“What?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

He strokes your cheek. Your skin stretches gently under his touch, your eye squinting closed. “What sort of something?” he whispers. 

You wanna ask why he won’t fuck you. It would make sense —isn’t that what rivalry is, heated competition with poorly hidden sexual tension? Is that what you and James had?

“I’ve been thinking about something.”

“What sort of something?” he repeats with a laugh. 

“I don’t want to say it out loud.” 

James lets your head rest against the armrest and pillow smushed behind the top of it. He leans down to kiss you, a pulling thing you can’t help following. “Then don’t say it,” he murmurs, his nose dragging up your cheek as your lips part lazily. “Maybe I can guess.” 

“I don’t think you’ll be able to.” 

“You never have any faith in me.” 

You have much more in him as of late. James has yet to let you down. You kissed him and it’s like he refuses to be cruel about it, never letting you worry, eager in his reciprocation. Things are still confusing between you because you’re avoiding a conversation you’re too afraid to start, lest he want something casual. Instead, you’ve let him drag you deeper into his caging. It will hurt twice as much to ask now. 

“It’s stupid,” you say. “Never mind.” 

“It’s not stupid.” 

“No, it was.” You scratch his scalp as you know he adores. “It’s eleven. You can kiss me for at least another half an hour.” 

If he hears the hopefulness in your voice he ignores it. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna keep you up.” 

“Well, only if you want to.” 

“I always want to kiss you, you vexing woman,” he murmurs, shivers lining your arms and spine as his lips part against your cheek. He kisses downwards, sloven, half moon kisses, lightest scratch of his teeth on your neck. “Is it too immature if I leave a mark?” he asks. 

Immature? You have no idea. “I don’t mind what you do, just not above the collar, please.” 

You grow still as he tugs at the neckline of your shirt to expose your chest. It isn’t what you meant, and you’re not about to correct him. 

“Tell me if I…” He looks up at you, smiling nicely. “Just tell me if I take it too far,” he says. “Okay?” 

He plants a kiss over your heart. You hate thinking that he can feel it, hammering, betraying your deep feelings. “Okay,” you breathe.

[messenger-of-babel]

Picture Perfect

Summary: You and Bruce have the picture perfect relationship, but all it takes is a picture for it to be undone. (Bruce Wayne x fem!reader)

Word Count: 2.0K

Notes: So sorry for the late post! I know I'm posting at 1am but I had so much to do for work it's been a really rough week. I do often post late at night since that's when I get back, but I try to have then in before midnight at least. Not many warning for this one, only lightly edited due to busy at work. I'll work extra hard to make up for it~

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

If there was one thing about Bruce Wayne that you'd like to pass to the tabloids, it would be that he knew how to fuck up a Saturday dinner.

You'd gone out on his arm as usual, dolled up to the nines. It was hard not to, when he all but insisted to line your pockets with cash and pay for any trouble of yours to disappear. When you refused that, he settled for wrapping strings of diamonds around your neck and wrists. He'd do it with soft touch, grin lopsided as his chest pressed along your back to fasten them. When he looked at you with that twinkle in his eye, you could only wonder how long it'd take for him to put a diamond on your finger and complete the set.

You had both been dating steadily for eleven months, casting ripples across the delicate pond that was the Gotham high life. You had sworn it was only going to be a one-night stand, to go home with the most eligible bachelor for one night just to try him out. Well, you could say that he had definitely lived up to the expectations, but neither of you had expected to catch feelings. By the third gala you had gone home together, the Gazette was already in a tizzy, headlines running about how the billionaire playboy had been seen with the same socialite on his arm for nights in a row. Well, they damn well ran out of ink when you and Bruce became official at that year’s Winter Gala.

Despite the rumours fluttering around Gotham, you and Bruce were quite happy. He worked late nights, something you had come to realise the further your relationship got. It didn't bother you too much, as you were often in your office anyways. Since your father had died you had become the head of the company, and a woman being the head of the company was enough to stir the sharks below you, fighting to wrestle it out of your hands. Sometimes when you were doing paperwork you imagined Bruce in Wayne Tower himself, pouring over his own work. The thought brought a smile to your face, and it always made the nights feel less lonely.

You were so sure in your relationship that when you walked through the door of the restaurant he had taken you to, you hadn't noticed anything different about the stares that followed you both into the private booth. You were unaware of the eyes that scanned the palm branding your back, oblivious to the way women turned to whisper to each other with pitying voices.

It had been the best night after a rough week, wanting nothing more to end the night with a glass of expensive wine and Bruce's bedsheets wrapped around your legs.

It was shaping up to be the perfect night, but like they say, ignorance is bliss.

As you had been walking to the car, Bruce opening the door for you, a reporter had come into your face, camera flashing before you had a chance to react. "Hey, personal space." Bruce had growled, putting a hand on the other man’s chest and pushing him away. The reporter acted like he wasn't even there, eyes trained on you. "How do you feel about the current news circling Bruce Wayne? Do you think you both will survive this?"

Your blood freezes as you look at the reporter, Bruce's warm hand on your shoulder snapping you out of it.

"No more questions, please." he says gruffly, helping you into the back seat and climbing in after you. With a hand signal, Alfred had pulled away, hurriedly taking you to Wayne Manor. You felt numb sitting next to him, eyes staring forward at the seat in front of you. You didn't know what he meant, but the anxious feeling in your throat told you that the eyes following your car were more than usual.

Like all good things, they all come to an end. Unfortunately, that also happened to include your relationship with Bruce. you're surprised that your breath is as even as it is right now. Tears burn forcefully at the back of your eyes, standing in the foyer of the manor.

"What is this?" you hiss out, holding up a paper by your face.

'WAYNE SEEN WITH SELENA KYLE STARLET, GOTHAM PLAYBOY RETURNS', reads the headline, with a picture of the pair kissing on a staircase. Your heart feels as crumpled as the newspaper in your fist, lips trembling. "You feel like explaining?" you force out, hating the way the break in your voice echoes in the empty foyer. He looks down, guilty. "It wasn't anything, I swear-" he tries to defend, arms coming out to try and reach for you. You scoff, turning on your heel, lips wobbling as you hold back your sobs. "Don't give me that bullshit," you scoff, tears finally slipping loose. "You don't get to say anything, you don't deserve to."

you cover your face with your hands, fingers coming away with smeared make up. Alfred had quietly slipped away, expression solemn. "God, I really thought that we had something, Bruce." you cry softly. "Why?"

He looks at you softly, hands trembling. "I can explain, please, let me explain." His hands come up to make a soothing motion, gently approaching you like you're a wild animal. "It isn't what it looks like. We aren't together. I love you; you know that. She came onto me, I swear."

You roll your eyes, although they're blurry from tears. "That's what all the rich billionaires say." you say deprecatingly.

"Not me." he says firmly, eyes wavering with a tinge of fear, fingers itching for something to hold. For you. "We can work past this. We can work it out, I assure you. This tabloid isn’t true. It isn't as bad as it seems."

That snaps something in you, almost doubling over from the angst welling up in your chest. "Not a problem? Not as bad as it seems?" you whirl on him, letting him see the destruction written across your face. "You humiliated me!" you scream, hand clutching your chest, other waving the paper. "Our relationship? Did it mean anything? Even if you're telling the truth, the problem is that half of Gotham pities me now. Did you not even have the decency to tell me before we went out? Just paraded me around while everyone else knew about our relationship trouble but me? How is that fair, Bruce?" you cry, feet feeling weak in your heels. "You know, I really thought I came to see a new side of you. I thought I knew all of you. My friends told me that I should be careful, that you were a skirt chaser. But no. I trusted you, Bruce." you say, voice rising. "I trusted you!"

His face shatters, grimacing at your cries.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." he says, voice thick. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fix this!" you cry, relieving the paper from your grip and it flutters to the ground. "It doesn’t fix us." you say weakly. "Did I…did I even mean anything? Or was I just another girl to string along?"

"No." he says firmly, taking a step towards you. "You weren't just another girl. you were my everything, you are my everything. I never meant to hurt you."

you shrug, tears falling down your face. "I'm a laughingstock." you cry softly, defeated. your fingers itch for your phone, to check the news, but you knew nothing good would come from scrolling the gossip columns. "I've got half of my father's board at my feet trying to get control through shareholder stocks. The other half were the elites mad I had taken you off the market," you jab a finger at him. "And now I'm nothing more than a floozy in the eyes of the public. I’m going to lose the respect I fought so hard for."

you run your fingers through your hair, stressed. Tears continue to stream down your face, heart rabbiting in stress. "I've never been this humiliated in my life." you weakly choke out.

He closes the distance, palms coming to cradle your face with thumbs stroking your cheeks. "I can fix this." he says desperately. you just shake your head, resigned and overwhelmed. You had always thought how special Bruce was, down to his calloused palms that were so different from every other highbrow man you had dated. "You still cheated." you grit out, eyes coming to meet his blue ones. Even though you wanted to relax so badly into his hold, to pretend like it had all been a dream and let him whisk you away into the bedroom, you pulled away.

you could see the flicker of pain that rippled across his body at your rejection, and the sight made your heart twist. "I need space." you say shakily, adrenaline making your world spin and chest tight. "Tell Alfred I'm going home."

The words feel heavy in your throat and even heavier when you see the panic in his eyes.

"Love, please don't-"

You hold a hand up to stop him.

"No. you, ‘please don't’." you say softly, head tilting down to the floor. "Just…don't. I need to find Alfred." you say as you follow the direction the elderly butler left in. Bruce can't do anything, rooted to the spot as he watches you hurry away. His body feels cold, and if he didn't know better, he'd say that this is what dying must feel like.

The old man is kind when you find him, and you can't help but cry on his shoulder when you break in front of him. He takes you out the kitchen door to the side, leading you to the car and opening the door silently. "I'm assuming you'd like some space for now, ma'am?" he says gently, not commenting on the tears and smeared makeup across your skin. you nod, and he closes the door after squeezing your shoulder comfortingly.

The ride back to your place is cold, hardly ever riding in the Wayne car without the warm presence of Bruce beside you. Your forehead presses against the window, staring out of it blankly. Staring out at the city that gossiped all about you now for sure, who'd eat you up in the coming months if you faltered. That was just the kind of place that Gotham is, especially in the elite circles.

When you click your phone back on, you make a conscious effort to resist the urge to respond to Bruce's string of frantic messages. Instead, your fingers trail over to the news tab, even though you know you shouldn't. Your face and Bruce's fill the pages, stages of your relationship depicted, all the way up to the photo the reporter snapped tonight. Your eyes are wide, lips parted in surprise. scrolling further down you encounter the fateful kiss and your heart clenches, mouth going dry. It was hard to believe that it was the same Bruce who kissed you so sweetly at night when he dropped you home or sent flowers to your office when work got hard.

It got so hard in fact, that all you could do was shut off the phone screen before any more tears could distort the colours on the screen. It flashes once with an incoming message from Bruce.

"Please let me fix this."

You shake your head to yourself, heart bleeding. Gotham was going to eat you alive. Despite your control your fingers typing out a message before backspacing.

"You shouldn't have broken us in the first place." remained unsent, as Alfred drove you to back to Old Gotham. Tears still dripped down the bridge of your nose, and you wished, desperately hoped, that the shame wouldn't follow you under the covers of your bed tonight.

The sheets that despite it all, you would still imagine to be Bruce's.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 13

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 12

Robin calls the Harrington house twenty-three times that night; no one answers. She gets desperate enough as she paces the length of her living room waiting for the phone to ring, that she asks her dad for the phone book, hands shaking as she looks for Munson. It’s unlisted, of course.

She thinks about looking up Jeff, but to her embarrassment, can’t think of his last name.

She’s too nervous to look for “Cunningham,” afraid equally that she’ll answer and not have seen Steve, or that she won’t answer at all. 

She calls Steve’s house again; he doesn’t pick up.

She’s tired enough the next morning to be tempted to stay home sick, but she drags herself out to the bus anyway, too worried about Steve to miss a chance at seeing him. He’s not there, but she doesn’t want to walk home, and there’s no bus back to her house until the end of the day.

Plus, there’s Chrissy and Jeff, who might know something she doesn’t. They’d been at Steve’s side before her; he might call one of them where he wouldn’t pick up for her, no matter how much that thought burns.

She catches Chrissy between sixth and seventh period, snags her wrist and drags her into the girl’s bathroom—is this her thing now? Please don’t let it be her thing.

“Robin?” Chrissy asks, eyes big and worried in her face once Robin’s dutifully checked all the stalls for eavesdroppers before turning back to Chrissy and letting the whole situation pour out of her mouth.

It goes something like this: “Jason, he—with Eddie, you know?” she says, raking her hands through her hair as she begins pacing the bathroom. “And then I told Steve, and maybe I shouldn’t have? Because he’s not here today! What if he—and it’s my fault!”

Chrissy snags Robin’s wrist, and her whole brain goes quiet as she stops suddenly enough that her sneakers squeak against the dirty linoleum.

“Slow down,” Chrissy demands, grip hard on Robin’s wrist as she uses it to turn her around to face Chrissy once more. “Start from the beginning. What did Jason do?”

Robin’s breath shudders—that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? What did Jason do? But Chrissy’s staring her down, so Robin takes a few deep breaths, and starts again.

“Jason followed Eddie’s van out of the school, and I told Steve,” she says all in one breath, hoping Chrissy can understand her. “And now neither of them are in school.”

Chrissy’s frowning at her, and Robin’s gut curdles at the look.

Like she always does when she’s nervous and there’s a lull in a conversation, she just keeps talking. “Do you think he did something to them?” she asks, bringing her free hand up to her lips to bite the nails there. “Steve could take him, right?”

Chrissy doesn’t answer, brow furrowed, eyes hard. Before Robin can babble herself into another freak-out, Chrissy turns on her heel and walks out of the bathroom, dragging Robin along by the hold she has on her wrist.

“Where are we going?” Robin whispers, glancing around the empty hallway like Principal Higgins will jump out of a shadowy corner and slap them with expulsion charges.

Chrissy doesn’t answer. Before Robin can work herself into a tizzy over the silence, Chrissy stops in front of one of the closed classroom doors and knocks before pulling it open.

Robin freezes, eyes wide as she ducks down to hide behind Chrissy.

“Hi, Mr. Mundy!” she says cheerfully. “Sorry for the interruption, but can I borrow Jason for just a minute?”

“What the fuck!” Robin whispers, staring at the back of Chrissy’s head, waiting for Mr. Mundy to call them on their bullshit.

The thing is, it works. Mr. Mundy sends Jason out without any follow-up questions—is this what it’s like to be head cheerleader?

For his part, Jason’s smiling like butter wouldn’t melt as he closes the classroom door softly behind him.

“Hey, Chris. What’s up?” he asks, smile only dropping as he catches sight of Robin peeking out from behind her. “Who’s your friend?”

“What did you do to Steve and Eddie?” Chrissy demands, voice firm.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, all levity having fled from his face.

Chrissy scoffs, finally dropping her hold on Robin’s wrist to plant her hands on her own hips. “I know you followed Eddie after school yesterday,” she replies, taking a threatening step forward. Determined to support her, Robin finally stands up straight, crossing her arms and glaring, hoping Jason doesn’t notice how her hands are shaking. “And I know Steve followed you both, and now no one’s seen either of them all day.”

She jabs Jason in the chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a bit as she asks, “what did you do?” She’s at least four inches shorter than him, but suddenly, she seems larger than life. Because Jason? He grimaces, cringing into the classroom’s door like she’s a threat.

Robin’s traitorous heart rata-tat-tat-tat’s in her chest.

“Okay!” he whispers, hands outstretched, looking furtively around himself for witnesses. “I didn’t touch Harrington.”

He sneers Steve’s name like it’s a curse. It rubs Robin all wrong, and by the way Chrissy takes another threatening step toward him, it must hit her the same.

“I didn’t!” Jason says, putting his hands up toward them as if to prove he’s weaponless. Robin knows better. “But Munson got what was coming to him.”

He’s got that same hard look in his eyes as when he’d followed Eddie in the first place. Robin shudders, imagining all the ways that hate could be turned on Eddie’s vulnerable body. She doesn’t know him well, but Steve cares about him, and no one deserves something like this.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Chrissy asks again, teeth gritted as she grunts out each word.

“You should be thanking me!” he sneers, looking down on her in a way that makes Robin furious. “I heard you talking in the library.”

Robin shoots a look at Chrissy and sees surprise on her face, but not confusion. Whatever this is about, she already knows about it.

“You went after Eddie because he was going to ask me out?” she demands, more furious than Robin’s ever seen her. Her hair’s damn-near flying, and she looks like Medusa more than her usual cheerleader archetype. Robin only falls harder as she jabs her pointer finger into Jason’s chest and asks, “what did you do to him?”

Jason takes another step back, smacking his head into the door behind him. “I just roughed him up a bit!” he whispers, eyes still wide. “Your new boyfriend’s fine. For now.”

And he’s back to snarling, a feral dog off its leash. Chrissy doesn’t back down. She shores her shoulders up, spine straight, chin tilted up as she replies, “if you touch either of them again, I’ll kill you.”

She sounds so serious that for a second, Robin believes her. By the way Jason’s Adam’s apple bobs, he does too.

Without another word, Chrissy turns on her heel and strides away. Robin scrambles after her, looking back at Jason every couple steps to make sure he doesn’t pull anything.

When they turn the corner and he’s out of sight, Robin takes a few running steps forward to walk beside Chrissy. “Now what?” she asks.

“Now, we wait,” she replies, head still held at that royal angle that makes her throat look even longer than normal. “And once class ends, Jeff and I will go to band practice. Unless he’s dead, there’s no way he won’t show up.”

Robin bites her lip. “What if he doesn’t show?” Robin asks.

“He will,” Chrissy says, an implied or else left dangling at the end of her statement. “But if he doesn’t, we’ll show up at his house and check on him.”

Robin stews, something bitter and afraid churning in her stomach as Chrissy walks on, damn-near forgetting her entirely. As if she wasn’t the one to tell Chrissy that something was even wrong. As if she wasn’t friends with Steve, too.

But she knows when Chrissy uses the word “we,” it doesn’t mean Robin. So, she says, “if you find Steve, could you ask him to call me?”

Chrissy stops in the middle of the hallway, turning to Robin with a furrowed brow. Robin feels her heartbeat ratchet up again, blood pooling into her cheeks. “Or, maybe you could call me? If he can’t, or if you don’t find him, or if he’s busy.”

Chrissy’s still just staring—Robin bites her lip against all the words that want to come out. “I’m just worried,” she rushes out, unable to abide by the quiet.

“I don’t have your number.”

“Oh!” Robin replies. “Uh—”

All higher brain functions having fled at the soft look in Chrissy’s eyes, Robin frantically feels around in her backpack for a pen. Then somehow, inexplicably, she’s writing her phone number on Chrissy’s bare forearm, marking up that creamy white flesh with her messy handwriting.

Her skin’s warm beneath the shaking hand Robin’s using to hold her forearm steady. Robin’s cheeks could start a forest fire as she dots the i on her own name as she writes it above her phone number—as if Chrissy will ever forget this uncomfortable moment.

Robin holds onto her a second longer than necessary—looking down at her own marks on Chrissy’s skin before she drops it abruptly. Chrissy keeps it in the air for a moment before letting her arm swing back to her side.

“Thanks, Robin,” she says, and when Robin finally looks up at her, she’s smiling, none the wiser to the big gay moment Robin was just having. “I’ll make sure he calls you.”

“Uh, yeah!” Robin squeaks. “Thanks. Thank you?”

Chrissy laughs, finally turning around and making her way to her next class. “Bye, Robin.”

“Bye!” Robin calls.

Steve better call her, and soon. Screw Eddie, she’s got a whole lot to unpack here, and no one else to do it with.

***

Eddie’s already ten minutes late to band practice; so is Steve.

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong!” Jeff says, all heated as he paces Gareth’s garage.

“Didn’t he get too high last Monday, and not go to school because he thought it was Sunday?” Chrissy asks, trying to cheer everyone up.

It doesn’t work.

She’s not any better. She’d been so sure that no matter what had happened, Eddie would come to band practice. Jeff had agreed when she’d caught him up on the situation, so here they are, stewing in anxiety the longer the clock ticks on.

Still, she’s a little charmed by the way Eddie’s entire band is crumbling without him—does he even know how integral he is?

“That’s school, though,” Gareth replies, twirling one of his drumsticks nervously between his fingers as he stares at the open garage door like Eddie will walk through any second. “He cares about the band.”

Behind him, Doug nods his support, clutching onto the strings of his instrument hard enough that she’s surprised they haven’t snapped. It’s sweet, really, the way they all care, but no matter what all the boys around her seem to think, Eddie couldn’t be punctual with a watch strapped to both his wrists and each of his ankles for good measure.

She’s his friend, but faultless, the boy is not.

Still, Jeff’s eyebrows are all pinched, and this practice is dead on arrival so she asks, “why don’t we wait a few minutes to make sure we don’t just miss him, and then I can drive you over to check on him?” while looking Jeff’s way.

After token protests from Doug and Gareth, waylaid by Jeff’s promise to call after, they wait a long five minutes before she corrals him into the passenger seat of her car and heads toward the trailer park. In deference to Jeff’s dour mood, she turns her Blondie tape on low.

But, she’s still in the car with the man of her dreams, so she reaches over the center console and settles her palm on his thigh with a squeeze. Jeff places his own hand over hers squeezing her fingers but otherwise not protesting.

She could’ve never done any of this with Jason, who found even the most minor of things emasculating. He would’ve rather walked than let her drive him somewhere, much less put her hand on his thigh. It was his job to put his hand on her thigh, didn’t she know?

Chrissy finds she likes it this way a lot better. She likes driving Jeff home from school after Hellfire, she likes carrying his books sometimes when she can get away with it.

She likes that he lets her.

It’s not a long drive—Jeff leaps out of her car almost before it’s in park, and Chrissy scrambles to keep up.

Jeff doesn’t even knock, just opens the door. Chrissy hesitates on the threshold, her mother’s teachings squirming within her at showing up uninvited, empty-handed, barging in.

But then Jeff inhales sharply and asks, “did Carver do all that?” and all thoughts of propriety fly right out of her head.

She steps through the open front door, shutting it gently behind her. Only then does she peer around Jeff’s shoulders. Eddie’s curled up on the couch, a bag of peas pressed to his bruised face, lip split straight down the middle.

He waves, smiling lazily like nothing’s wrong at all. “Come to join the party?”

As if to punctuate Eddie’s absurd question, a door opens and suddenly, there Steve is, looking unhurt, if a bit tired. He stops right outside the door, eyes widening as he catches sight of them. “Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his head, cheeks tinting red with what looks like embarrassment. “Hey.”

“What happened?” Chrissy asks, an echo of Jeff’s own words, gaze still trained on Steve.

Eddie scoffs, drawing her line of sight back to him just to watch him somehow curling himself into an even smaller ball before hissing like it hurts and straightening back up.

“You’re boyfriend got me,” he replies, something mean in his voice.

Chrissy looks at Jeff first, eyes wide before she remembers: she’s supposed to be dating Steve. For his part, Steve looks uncomfortable where he’s loitering across the trailer.

“What?” Chrissy squeaks out, smacking her hand over her mouth in shock. “Steve wouldn’t—”

Eddie stands suddenly enough that Chrissy stops talking without prompting. He throws his hands up in exasperation, dropping them immediately to clutch at his ribs. “Not that one,” he cries, voice cracking with pain.

Chrissy’s fingers are tingling. She bunches them up at her sides, a thread of violence coursing through her voice as she says, “Oh, right. Jason.”

Eddie scoffs, wincing again as his split lip drips down his chin.

Jeff, clearly fed up with watching his best friend inflict further pain on himself, rushes forward and pulls up Eddie’s shirt, prying his fingers off when he tries to hold it down. There’s a big, purpling bruise along the line of his ribs, another smaller one lower on his stomach.

Finally succeeding in slapping Jeff’s hands away, Eddie slumps back into the couch, pouting up at Jeff like this is all just a joke. Like he’s not black and blue. “Stop it, prince charming over there already took care of it.” He throws a careless thumb over his shoulder at Steve. “Not the knight in shining armor I would’ve chosen.”

This, he directs toward Chrissy, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously at her. Behind him, Steve’s recently-flushed cheeks drain to an off-white as the comment lands. He shuffles into the living room proper, slumping down on the couch as far away from Eddie as he can, entire body pointed away like that’ll keep him from being notice. 

Her hands clench harder.

She’s never been a violent person, but seeing that look on her best friend’s face makes her desperate, suddenly, for a target she could actually hit. But it’s Eddie inflicting the pain—stupid, sweet Eddie who doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Jeff sighs.

“Um,” is all she gets out, voice high with discomfort.

There’s a sitcom concept here somewhere: a cheerleader trapped in an enclosed space with her boyfriend, the boy she’s pretending to date who likes the boy who likes her, because she’s pretending to in order to protect the boy who likes him. Oh yeah, and her ex-boyfriend beat up the boy who likes her who she’s pretending to like.

It’s muddled enough they’d need a diagram for the pitch meeting just to have a chance of keeping it all straight.

Eddie’s still looking at her, big cow eyes all wide and earnest, so she says, “I’m sorry?” and he laughs.

“It’s not your fault your ex-boyfriend is the worst person alive.”

Jeff snorts, but the moment of levity drops when Eddie continues with a muttered, “not that your taste has improved much.”

“Eddie,” Chrissy cuts in, voice dangerous as she looks past him to her best friend’s drooping expression. 

“Sorry!” Eddie replies, throwing his hands in the air as he smiles up at her. “But I would kick myself for years if I didn’t take my shot.”

And with that, Eddie gets up off the couch; it looks painful, he grimaces as his ribs straighten and clutches at his wrist. Steve partially raises from his seat, arms open like he might have to catch Eddie. But Eddie makes it up from his seat, and is out of the room in seconds.

Steve slumps down into the couch, and Chrissy burns—at Jason, at Eddie, at the whole goddamn world for the look on his face.

It gets worse when Eddie reenters the room because there, clutched in his hand, is a familiar style of folded letter with a familiar script on it, but instead of Secret Admirer, it just says Chrissy.

“I was going to just leave this for you,” Eddie says, smiling sheepishly as he holds it out to her, “but Carver waylaid my plans so.”

Eddie shrugs before wincing and lowering his shoulders. He shakes the letter at her again, still inexplicably smiling, as if Jeff hasn’t gone stiff beside her, and Steve hasn’t withered away enough to damn-near disappear

Chrissy takes the letter.

Chrissy,

I’m sorry for not being up front with you. I was just afraid, but not anymore. I don’t want you to think you’re not good enough for me because baby, you’re everything. Every word you write on the page means everything to me. You have to know that.

I can’t imagine this year without you in it. You’ve brightened my days far more than you could ever know. I want the chance to do the same for you. I want to get you flowers, and show up at your door with my hair combed just right. I want to hold your hand at the drive-in.

If you want that, too, I’ll pick you up this Friday. They’re showing Romancing the Stone, my treat.

Hopefully Yours,

Eddie

P.S. You don’t have to “be better,” baby. I just want you to be you. That will always be enough for a guy like me.

It’s devastating. Chrissy’s eyes trace the page, brain ticking away against a problem with no solution. It’s not fair to say yes, not when it’s not just her heart on the line, but all four of them, primed for breaking.

She doesn’t look up at Steve, can’t bear to see whatever’s on his face.

“Obviously you were supposed to find the letter in the atlas,” Eddie says, and when she looks up at him, he’s got a piece of hair held up over his own lips, face gone a light pink with an embarrassed blush. “But this is me asking if—if you want to go out. With me. To the drive-in?”

Chrissy swallows, throat suddenly dry, unable to find the words to fix this. The longer the silence goes on, the wider and wetter his eyes get. She feels like the hunter who shot Bambi. She has to say something.

“She didn’t write the secret admirer letters.” Steve’s voice rings out, sure and steely, through the trailer. Eddie sits up straighter, eyes still trained on her. She barely notices, gaze stuck to Steve, whose face has gone somehow paler, and is tinged with a greenish hue, like he’s going to be sick.

“Steve—“ Chrissy starts.

“I did.”

PART 14

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 7.

This place can get fucked.

No, seriously. You’re seriously starting to hate this place.

You’ve been hanging on one of your last threads of self control for the last day. And really, it’s fraying so fast that you can feel your muscles twitch from the lingering stress in your body boiling over into anger.

But you’ll bite your fucking tongue bloody to make reason and maybe correct this. 

You’re not confident that'll happen though.

“W-Wait! You can’t just throw them out over a tart! We’ll just take it and go!” You try to make him see reason but so far, reason is the last thing this world sees. After all, if it did, you wouldn’t be so terrified of Ace and Deuce. And yes, you’re only defending them because the sooner this mess is over, the sooner you can actually sleep tonight. But still, this is completely outrageous. 

But since this dorm’s rules come straight from the loony bin from a tyrannical dictator that got what she deserved in the end, and the person enforcing them is about as oppressive megalomaniac as the inspiration…what the hell were you expecting?!

“Yeah! If you want the tart gone, let me eat it!” Grim makes a dash for the tart, but all it takes is for an angry glare from Riddle for one of those terrified card soldiers to quickly take it and throw it out. Isn’t that just great? All that hard work for nothing.

For the first time since this mess started, Trey takes responsibility for messing up Ace’s apology, and sending his dorm leader into a tizzy. “Dorm Leader, allow me to apologize. I was the one who suggested making a chestnut tart!” 

Thankfully, Cater takes a little responsibility too, considering he was the one that caused this tea party to turn into a mess. “I was a part of that too. We had no idea there was a rule about it!”

But Riddle’s just as uncompromising as he was at lunch yesterday. “The making of the tart is not the issue. The issue is bringing it HERE. Today. THAT is the transgression!”

“We were going to bring it earlier, it’s just we were unexpectedly..” You grind that out as you glare at Cater for that stupid detour, “distracted! How can you be so mean and uncompromising after he worked so hard! You have to think it’s at least a little stupid to live by these foolish rules!”

“Yeah! All you do is cite one stupid rule after another! You sound totally foolish!” Yes! Thank you Ace! At least someone else disagrees with this complete insanity.

Riddle’s face goes from angry to furious, “What did you just call me? ‘Foolish?!’” 

Cater grabs you and Ace by your arms to pull you both away from the rising argument, “Everyone, stop! Don’t dig this hole any deeper! And Riddle, please try to remember that these are new students who’ve only been here a few days!” but you wretch your arm away. You already know that Riddle hates excuses IN apologies, and you’re not apologizing to this self-righteous pain in your ass.

Thankfully, Ace doesn’t buy the BS being spat out right now, “Nah, bro. I’ve got a shovel and I am DIGGING. Throwing away a tart to obey some insane rule is about as foolish as it gets.” 

“I agree with Ace. Of course, I understand that rules do need to be followed, but…This is going much too far.” Deuce is on your side too, thank the seven. Someone else isn’t going to stand idly by for this fever dream.

“Too far is an understatement.”  You say point-blank. “You’re acting like a crazy person over a tart! You can't deny that you're being foolish!”

Riddle’s angry glare falls on you “A person like you has no right to tell me what is and isn't foolish!” 

Is he referring to you? And why is he- “Though I can't say I'm not surprised by your reaction, considering how your kind tends to act” Oh no.

To the ears of others you hope that they think that he's saying that you're just a troublemaker, but you know that he thinks otherwise. Because he already knows you're a darling. And he knows that you know that. 

Which means that if he wanted to, he could reveal who you really are to anyone within earshot. Which is especially bad considering that Ace and Deuce are already suspicious of you.

This isn’t good…..

Maybe you should shut up for now.

Probably satisfied that he shut you up, he receptors his focus and rage back on Ace. “And you…Are you attempting to debate me? Bold move, but I’ll bite. By breaking even the smallest rule, you are throwing wide the gate to anarchy.”

You feel the urge to point out the obvious about how insane he's acting over a tart, but instead you bite your tongue. 

Regardless though, Ace is there to say what you can't. Now very fed up, Ace gestures to the silent audience to this ‘debate’.. “Everyone, I know you’re afraid of getting your magic sealed away, but you know this is insane, right?”

But instead of speaking their minds, all of them jolt at being put on the spot, fidgeting and squirming in fear of the dorm leader's wrath. “N-No, we, uh….”

Some actually look like they’re willing to speak up against Riddle’s leadership, but whatever attempts at resistance there are in the crowd, they are squashed as soon as Riddle’s angry glare is set upon them. “Well? Isn’t it?”

“Far from it, Dorm Leader Riddle, sir!” One brave/cowardly soul says from the crowd and the bystander effect comes into effect full force. Because as soon as that one person gets his words out, the other card soldiers follow suit. “We trust in your judgment, sir!”

Once again, it’s just like your dream with the card soldiers standing idly by next to their fellow cards’/ dormmates’ abuse. You hate your dreams, stupid bad omens. Stupid self-serving card soldiers…

“You little…”

“You spineless, fair-weather cowards…” Ace mutters at the betrayal of his dormmates and fellow victims.

Now probably overconfident from the residents’ denial of his tyranny, Riddle starts some spiel. “In the year since I became Dorm Leader, not a single student from Heartslabyul House has dropped out or been held back a year. We are the only house that can boast such a feat. Furthermore, of everyone in this dorm, I have the best academic standing.” Whatever point Riddle’s getting to, his statements aren’t really the proof he thinks it is, just because they’re still here doesn’t mean they aren’t planning to leave. Also, doesn’t the fear of failure push you to break the rules to avoid failing?

“What does that have to do with anything?” You Someone can be super smart and still be very wrong.

He pauses in his tirade, speaking slowly, like you're a child incapable of understanding what he’s saying. “Hence I am the most correct! If you would simply obey me without question, we wouldn’t need to contend so.” Okay, rude. You bite your tongue to stop yourself from offending him further, but seven only knows you want to.

“Listen, we-” 

Riddle interrupts Deuce, isn’t there a rule about interrupting someone while they speak? “It’s not off with their heads because ‘I’ want to do that. I do it because rules must never be broken.”

Still completely pissed about the fact that you might have In the corner of your eye, you see Trey cross his arms looking guilty. There has to be something wrong between the two of them. Because what Trey wouldn’t defend Riddle so much  and then not tell him when he’s wrong if there wasn’t something strange or tense between them. 

“If you will not obey me, then I will have all of your heads!” This isn’t just being a control freak, this is being a total dictator. Even some of the most overbearing control freaks can understand that mistakes are a human characteristic.

Cater intervenes again, to play peacemaker, “Okay, let’s all say, “Yes, Dorm Leader Riddle.” and screw that. Revelations be damned, you can't just agree with him because you're scared about what he'll do. That'll make you no better than the others staying silent.

“I can’t.” Deuce 

“Me neither.” You cross your arms in indignation. “What you’re doing is just unfair.”

“Yeah, ____ we don’t bow to self-important tyrants!”

Riddle’s cheeks turn red as his anger grows.

“What did you just call me?” 

“He called you what you are. A tyrant.” You repeat, what you're doing is very risky but still he can stay mad about it. Darling or not, you're not going to leave this alone.

“Yeah Henchman’s right! You wanted to destroy good food just ‘cause you’re throwin’ a tantrum!”

“Guys, I don’t think we need to escalate this-” It’s much too late for that. Because before Deuce can finish his sentence….

“Off! With! Your! Heads!” 

There’s a flash of light and in seconds there’s a tight pressure around your neck. You cough in surprise and “Aw shit.” There’s a collar like Ace’s around your neck. And Deuce and Grim are wearing them too. Why? Speaking your mind isn't against the rules!

Still boiling mad, he spits orders like the tyrant he is. “Trey! Cater! Eject them from the premises!”

For the two very lively people they were, they immediately turn to the reluctant drones that the other card soldiers are once Riddle starts yelling at them, “...Yes sir, Dorm Leader.”

You shrug Trey's hand of your shoulder and glare at him in distaste. He doesn’t want to meet your eyes 

“You’re supposed to be our ‘mentors’!” Ace objects vehemently at the betrayal. And all the two can do is spill empty apologies. 

“Sorry, but we can’t disobey our dorm leader!” 

“Sorry, man..”

They  were fine with it yesterday. Glad to know that was all for nothing.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be? Then bring it on!” Somewhere in this conversation, Ace must have forgotten that everyone about to be thrown out either had no magic to begin with, or can’t cast it thanks to the stupid collars. So obviously, they get trounced. It was kind of sad really.

Before Trey pulls you out, you yell at Riddle “Hey Rosehearts! I don't have magic. Take the collar off!” It’s already unfair that Deuce and Grim got one for questioning his authority, you getting one is just cruel and unusual punishment. 

He gives you a snide look, “Perhaps you should wear it for a while too. Since you seem to have forgotten it, it might help to properly remind you of your place.”

 This little…..

Trey and Cater kick you out before you can paint Riddle’s ears with the full capacity of your swear dictionary.

So. Now what?

“I'm gonna kill him.”

“_____-”

“No, Deuce, no, I’m serious.” It’s one thing to saddle Ace and Deuce with you for another fucking night, but then to collar you, an non-magic user, just because he got butt hurt. You hope someone chops off his head to see how he likes it. 

Though now that you think about it, you really feel bad for the darling he’s meant to have in this world. If he’s this strict over a tiny thing like a tart then there’s no telling what he’ll flip the hell out for. You’d hate to be them.

“Stop, tryna be an honor student about this Juice. She’s right, we should just kill him. We can get away with it.”

“See, Deuce. Listen to Ace, we might just get a parade for ridding the dorm of that menace.” You don’t really want to encourage them to murder, but you’re pissed and the twerp deserves it. 

“Yeah, even without my magic I’ll kick that guy’s butt so hard that he’ll regret collaring the Great Grim for the rest of his life.”

So you were all kicked out thirty minutes ago. And here you all are in the rose maze, with the music of the unbirthday party in the background. All of you had collars on your necks, and you were really pissed about this nonsense if you couldn’t tell already.

With you no longer there to be the voice of reason, because you were fuming, Deuce was trying to calm your bloodlust before you do something you might regret. 

Which you probably might, if you keep encouraging Ace to kill someone. 

You take a deep breath, or seven, before finally sighing in defeat. “Ugh. We probably shouldn’t kill anyone.”

“But-”

“We really shouldn’t kill anyone Ace.” You finally say,

Ace huffs in displeasure. “Fine. Still, who does he think HE is, the Queen of Hearts?” Ace kicks over one of the empty paint cans in his rage.

“Probably, Ace.” You tug at your shirt to give yourself more room to breathe. This stupid thing is super claustrophobic no wonder Grim hates it. 

Speaking of, “Stupid collar! It’s so tight! GRrr!” Grim fights with the collar for the umpteenth time, and you sigh.

“We should probably go see Crowley. If Riddle will listen to someone, it’ll probably be him.” You huff, things just keep going downhill-

A voice pops up from the ether. “You’re really racking up those collars. Quite the impressive collection.”

“Who-?” You jump at the sound of a new voice, scanning the hedges and rose bushes for a source-”AH!”

“BWAH?!”

It’s a head, a floating head in the middle of the garden! Seriously, who did a line of cocaine before making this world! 

“Myah! A ghost head!” Grim freaks the hell out, retreating into the safety of your arms, his fur standing up on end. 

The head tilts to the side, one of his ears twitching,  before looking down, “Oh dear. It seems I’m not all here.” He laughs as the rest of his body fades into view. Oh, it’s magic. Thank goodness. You breathe a sigh of relief. 

“What? Er, so you do have a body, then?” Deuce’s brain finally catches up to the shock he’s just seen. “Who are you?”

“The name’s Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker.” …….Wha? Forget the other names so far, did his parents have a stroke writing his name? He circles you all while starting a confusing spiel. “As for what I am….Am I a cat? Am I a purrrson? A mimsy borogrove, perhaps? A mome rath with a knack for magic?” 

Great riddles. You already had an infuriating run in with the human Riddle, now you had to deal with the non-human kind. Wonderful. “Your name is…Artem- Could you say that again please?” 

He laughs, with a cheshire smile, “People usually just call me Chenya. And let’s just say I’m not from the other side of the looking glass.” …..The hell does that mean? Is he from here? Or not? Either way, like everyone else here, he’s very weird.

“Yet another weirdo…” you mutter. You’re starting to wonder how in the hell Alice didn’t lose her mind in wonderland. 

He must’ve heard you but he doesn’t take offense, instead he gets up close and personal, stopping right before your noses touch. “You think so? I’d say by the standards here, I’m no more mad than anyone else.”

Ace pulls you away from Art- Artemi- Chenya, by your arm and asks you as Chenya the other question that was on your mind. “Uh…what dorm are you from?”

He hums a laugh. “Why don’t you try to guess?” The animal ears remind you of Savanaclaw, but he’s not dressed in any yellow. 

Grim takes the opportunity to display his intellect, “Oh, I know! He’s got animal ears, so you gotta be from….uh…Bananaclaw, was it?” No, wait a second, his uniform doesn’t even look like NRC’s. Does he even go here?

“Bzzzt! Incorrect. Bananas grow on trees, do they not? I, on the other hand, am a cat.” He reminds you of someone, just who exactly are you thinking of….

Deuce contemplates the question at hand. “And besides, other dorms have students with animal ears, too.”

Ace, on the other hand, is still pissed. “After that insanity that teapot tyrant put me through, I’m not in the mood for whatever this is. Just leave us alone.” 

His ears twitch at the mention of a tyrant. “Riddle the teapot tyrant…Heh Heh. Well, I can’t dismiss that perspective as wrong.” He knows Riddle? Wait, you never mentioned Riddle. “He’s always been quite strict.”

“How did you know we were talking about Riddle? And do you know something about him?” You ask.

Chenya doesn’t answer, giving you that ear-to-ear grin, “Perhaps there are things that I know, and perhaps there are things that I don’t.” Yay….confusing riddles.

“That’s not an answer!” Grim objects.

Still smiling and still laughing, Chenya asks “Is there something you wish to know about Riddle?”

“Yeah, what created such a control freak?”

Chenya tilts his head in thought at Ace’s question, tapping his chin with a finger. “I believe his four-eyed friend may have the answer.” Wait, Trey? Also, Riddle has friends?

“Four-eyed friend? You mean Trey?” Deuce asks.

“He’s known Riddle since we were all little boys. If you want to know more about Riddle, I would begin my quest there.” Well that was uh, helpful. But if they all have known each other, why is Riddle so uncaring to Trey? If they’re supposed to be friends, they don’t act like it. 

“They’re childhood friends? I didn’t get that impression.”

“Me neither,” You agree, “Could have fooled me, I didn’t think Riddle had any friends.”

Chenya laughs, his body starting to turn translucent“If you’re so perceptive, then what are you asking me for? Buh-bye!”

“Hey! Wait!” You try to stop him from disappearing, but Chenya only laughs before his head vanishes.

Well, that was something.

“I tell ya, no one makes any sense around here.” You nod in agreement. Nothing makes sense here.

Well, if talking to Trey will clear this whole thing up, then you need to speak with him soon. And from the sounds of music in the garden. That won’t be for a while.

“We should wait to speak with Trey, and then..”

Ace interrupts Deuce. “If you’re gonna say “Apologize to Riddle,” you can forget it!”

“I don’t think you should. Riddle’s clearly in the wrong here. But we might have some trouble speaking with Trey if he’s still in the dorm we’re kicked out of. But…”

“We might have to set up a little ambush…” Ace and Deuce don’t disagree, in fact Deuce is cracking his knuckles in preparation. 

Now all you need to do is plan and wait.

“Hello Trey.”

Your group of four hadn’t exactly figured out what to do after Chenya told you about Trey and Riddle’s childhood friendship. Being banned from Heartslabyul and then watching another unfortunate student get thrown out minutes later with a magic collar around their neck told you that going in to find him wasn’t going to end well.

It was luck that you noticed Trey's tart cookbook yesterday, and even luckier that you remembered he probably hadn’t returned it already. 

So you all staked out the library until he came back after the unbirthday party. Which Trey thankfully came alone for because you needed  him to trauma dump on Riddle’s past very hard.

“You four!” He doesn’t seem surprised to see you. This must happen a lot.

“We figured that if we waited at the library, you’d show up to return your tart cookbook eventually.” Actually you figured that part out. You just thought you’d let Deuce be the one to say it, he’s had a rough day with his honor student problem.

“We still got a problem with the way Dorm Leader Riddle is handling all of this.” Ace has more than a problem with this, considering you had to calm him down enough to even have this conversation.

Trey shakes his head in exhaustion. “Yeah, I thought you might say that.” The more you hear about this the more you think that Trey was just hoping the problem would go away on its own.

Ace thankfully gets straight to the point.“Come clean with us. What’s your take on Riddle? Is it true you’ve been pandering to him since the two of you were kids?” 

Trey recoils like he’s been struck across the face. “What?! Who told you that?”

“A Chenya popped up in the garden and explained the whole thing.” You say.

He sighs in exasperation. “Chenya…Huh. That explains it.” 

“What I don’t get is, aren’t you older than Riddle? Why haven’t ya told him off already?”

“Grim’s right. If you’re supposed to be friends then why don’t you say something. If you’re friends, he might listen to you!” Trey better have a good reason for letting this get as bad as it did. Because he probably could have stopped this way earlier if he just did as Grim said.

“I do when I need to. I don’t think the situation calls for it.”

Well, that’s a load of BS right there. “No offense Trey, but are you blind?!” You’re done being reasonable about this. He needs to hear this as it is. “He’s ruling over your dorm with an iron fist, collaring anyone that slips up even on accident, and the situation doesn’t call for it?! How can you call yourself his friend if you aren’t telling him when he’s enforcing rules like he’s a tyrant!”

Trey shakes his head and averts your eyes. If he feels ashamed then good. This could have-“Because these sorts of strict rules…They’re what created Riddle.” -been…avoided…?

“I don’t follow.” You say.

You knew that Riddle probably had some serious trauma to make him the way he is, but as you were expecting he did.

As Trey was kind enough to inform you, Riddle’s mother was one of those mom’s who pushed her legacy onto her kids, and wouldn’t give them an inch unless they met her incredibly and unfairly high standards. 

A childhood scheduled down to the last possible second sounded awful, and because kids are biologically inclined to care for their parents, Riddle did as was expected of him. But to have no freedom of choice your entire life, because of your mother’s rules, no wonder he followed rules so strictly, it was all he ever knew.

But still he had to rebel at least once, find fun in something outside the heavy rules that constricted around his life, after all he was no perfect child, he was only human.

“I can’t even imagine how hard he must’ve had it.”

“That…” It’s horrible that his mother messed him up that bad, but it isn’t just her fault anymore…Now Riddle’s, as he’s now being his own worst enemy and he’s not even aware of it. And even worse, the most unfortunate part of this was that this horrible childhood gave you the upside that at the very least this was proof that even with this society’s ridiculous laws and beliefs, life wasn’t perfect. And to be honest, to you that doesn’t sound like a victory. “That sounds horrible.”

Trey nods, “Riddle sees the enforcement of strict rules as a service to his dorm members. In his eyes, being bound by rigid guidelines by fear- is a fast track to personal growth.”

“But he has to know that’s not the same for everyone,” You point out, “either you make them ‘better’ or you teach them to break the rules without anyone noticing.” You’re not an expert on this, but you’re pretty sure this won’t end the way Riddle wants it to, which adds an extra edge of sadness to this downward spiral Riddle’s unknowingly put himself in.

Trey shakes his head, and he keeps talking even though he sounds so pained,“He might but, it was that strictness was what worked for him. And on the flip side, he sees the violation of those rules as an inexcusable offense.”

“I guess that makes sense, since rules made him who he is.” At least Ace is able to understand that Riddle’s situation sounds terrible to grow up in. 

“Look, I totally get why you see Riddle as a tyrant, and why you disapprove of his methods. But for me…I can’t hold that against him, you know?” Trey may be right in thinking Riddle is a delicate situation to handle, as no one would like being told their childhood was emotionally abusive and they didn’t notice, but that doesn’t make this okay.

Being oppressive over people that don’t share your ideals isn’t okay no matter what childhood you have.

“Myah…”

“So that’s why he’s like that.”

Deuce and Grim might not have been able to pick up on what you have, but this isn’t a reason for Riddle’s madness. 

It’s an excuse for why Trey hasn’t done anything.

“All right, now I get it.” Ace says finally. “It’s YOUR fault Riddle’s like this.” So he understands it the same way you do.

“What?!”

“I agree with Ace. This IS your fault, Trey. Sure, he had a hard childhood. But you’ve known that what his mother did to him was wrong and you let him repeat it, because you’re too afraid to stop him.”

“_____’s right. You’re going easy on him because he had it rough as a kid? Don’t you see where that’s leading? You’re letting him make a pariah out of himself!”

Deuce tries to shut Ace up before he offends their upperclassman, “Ace, man, come on…”

But Ace ignores him. “So why don’t you say something? Are you just afraid you’ll ‘lose your head’ too? That’s pathetic! You guys are supposed to be childhood friends?! Then act like it-”

“YOU THERE! BE QUIET! YOU ARE IN A LIBRARY!!!” 

Headmaster Crowley comes out of nowhere and  takes you completely by surprise, as it echoes throughout the library.

“But you’re yellin’ louder ‘n any of us, though!” Grim points out exasperated.

“Oh!” He clears his voice before hushing into a whisper, “Yes, my apologies. But let us strive to maintain the library as a quiet place for reading.”

“What are you doing here, Headmaster?” You ask.

“I’m researching methods to send you back home. Precisely as I promised I would.” 

That gets your attention! “Did you find anything?!” You say hopeful, if he has then that’s one step closer to you returning home. You’ll accept any news, even horrific news!

Crowley hesitates for far too long. “Uh, No, unfortunately…But I am gracious! And the library is, of course, an ideal place for serious research.”

“Aw.” Your mood deflates like a balloon. Ah, well at least he’s trying.

“It’s not as if I came here just to secure the newest book in that popular series of novels. No, certainly not.” Wait, what did he say?

“Wait, what-”

He clears his throat and brushes you off, “Incidentally, what are you all discussing with such grim faces?”

“Wait a second. What were you not actually-”

“Now I understand, you are resistant to the idea of apologizing, but unable to devise any other method to get the dorm leader to remove the collar.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

“I see, If you and the dorm leader are truly unable to reconcile, you could always transfer. However, this is the dorm that the Dark Mirror chose for you based on the essence of your being. Any attempt to relocate would necessitate quite a burdensome process, as well as a new ritual.” Of course, they are strings attached to this nonsense. You might as well just let Ace move in, which you really don’t want to do with what happened this morning.

And Ace is stubborn, so transferring is the equivalent of saying Riddle’s right and that means that transferring is not happening.

After some thought, Crowley finally responds. “Hmm. Then it sounds like you should challenge Mr. Rosehearts for leadership of the dorm.”

“WHAAAAAT?!” That’s a thing?! Even Trey is surprised for shit’s sake and he’s a third year! Does Crowley just withhold information for the fun of it, because seriously he just refuses to tell people things just to make a joke later?!

“Lower your voices! This is a library!” Crowley whisper-yells.

“But what you said was…insane?” Ace whisper-yells in complete disbelief. But to be honest, Whatever He’s said much more insane things to you….You probably wouldn’t have noticed if Crowley hadn’t spelled it out for you. Maybe this will lead to a solution somehow?

“There is nothing remotely ‘insane’ about it. After all, that’s how Mr. Rosehearts got the position.” Wait, how did Trey not- nevermind.

So dorm leaders can either be named by the predecessor or duel for the position. Well, this could be worse. If Riddle became housewarden within a week it could be possible for Ace or Deuce to do it. 

Plus, it would get the collars of them before the duel because they need their magic to- Wait. 

“But if you fight Riddle, then-”

“So what do you say, Mr. Trappola? Will you challenge Mr. Rosehearts?”

“But wait, if you fight Riddle-”

“Sure, I’ll give it a shot!” 

“Ace, if you duel Riddle then he’ll-”

“Then I will too!”

“Me three!”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Grim. You cannot challenge a dorm leader of a dorm to which you do not belong.”

“Myah?! Then how’m I supposed to get this buzzkill collar off?!”

“About that, if-”

“If I become dorm leader, I’ll just order Riddle to remove it! Easy-peasy!” 

“But I don’t think you’ll w-”

“How will everyone know how tough I am if you do that?” You facepalm, they’re not listening. And they’re pumped up, so they’re probably not paying attention to the obvious detail they’re ignoring.

That Riddle will slap the collars right back on them as soon as the duel begins.

Even though Trey knows this, he doesn’t stop them or tell them that instead he says, “Are you sure about this? I certainly didn’t expect you to throw your hat into the ring, Deuce.”

“You didn’t? I think every man’s gotta make a grab for glory at least once in his lifetime.” Well, it’s too late to talk Deuce out of this. Yay. “And if we’re teaming up to take him down, ya better believe I’m running the show!”

“Oh man, here we go again.” The devious smiles on Ace and Deuce’s faces tell you that this plan is doomed from the start. Note to self, stop by Sam’s later to see if he has any charms or spells that can make your room impossible to enter without your permission, because you’re probably about to get two new roommates

“Huh? What’d you say?”

“Then I’ll get started on the paperwork,” Crowley says excitedly. 

“Are you guys sure this is a good idea? Because-” Again, you’re interrupted. 

“Don’t get all worked up on me now. All we need’s a plan. Anyone got one?”

“Hmm. Hard to imagine we can beat Riddle with straightforward magic. A solid left hook, on the other hand…” 

“Yeah, that guy looks like a pushover.” Oh, well that could work. Riddle could beat them in magic, but with fists though-

“Ah, did I forget to mention that detail? These duels are to be fought solely with magic.” There it is. Why do you even bother? 

Either way, Ace and Deuce have already decided they would do this and Crowley’s excited to make it happen, no way out of this now.

But maybe, for you, there is.

The mirror on your bedroom wall.

Let the night show you what it wants. Maybe it has something. A way out of this wonderland.

It might be uncomfortable to sleep with this collar on but,....

…..Let’s see where this rabbit hole takes you.

[hom3landr]

For your dark prompts: HomelanderxFem!Reader

"Do it or I'll make you," + Stalking/Obsession

The Butterfly Effect

Alternate Dark version of Tea and Honey

18+

CW: DUBCON

What if the mug broke? What if one tiny hiccup changed everything? An alternate version of Tea and Honey where one small accident changes Homelander’s and Baker’s stories forever

Homelander’s eyes land on a lone mug on your counter. It’s colorful and chipped and so you that the unexpected rush of endearment he feels helps direct him out of his rage for a moment. His brow furrows as an idea begins to form. He can fix this. He just needs to do what you would do. But his hands are still clumsy with emotion and when he reaches for the mug, his grip causes the pottery to shatter. The noise is so loud in his ears and his chest heaves. What if that was your favorite mug? He imagines that’s what your skull would feel like crumpled between his palms. He digs his palms into his eyes and he can feel the heat from the glow of his lasers.

“Listen to me. C’mon Tiger, when have I ever let you down?” The familiar voice cajoles him. Homelander turns teary eyes to the glass at last and finds his old friend looking back at him. He shrinks back from his condescending gaze.

“Can you help? I don’t want her to hate me.” He sniffles, ashamed at his emotional reaction. He’s pathetic and he hates that about himself. You’re just a toy, something to amuse himself with. But here he is weeping like a snot nosed little brat at the mere thought of your disapproval. He cringes.

“Why don’t you let me take over for a bit? I’ll straighten it all out.” The mirror replies, smug. Homelander falters for a moment. He wants more than anything to hand things over for the moment, to have someone else deal with the responsibility. But he’s aware of the methods normally required. He clears his throat nervously.

“Just…don’t hurt her.” He answers sheepishly. He can feel the disapproval from the figure in the glass and he has to look away for a moment. The voice goes quiet and Homelander crushes the remaining pottery shards in his hands to dust.

“Don’t worry, I won’t break your toy. She just needs a little…fixing before she will be ready for you to play with again.” The voice assures him and Homelander’s stomach twists. He doesn’t like the sound of that but he doesn’t have a choice. If he continues like this, he’ll just keep fucking up. He doesn’t know what else to do so he nods.

“Atta boy.”

————————

Homelander steps out of the kitchen and rolls his eyes at the pathetic figure you make on the couch. Is this really what has John in such a tizzy? This? It baffles him. Your sniffles set his teeth on edge. It’s so tempting to just stalk over and snap your neck. That way he’d be able to remove the hindrance of you from John’s life so he wouldn’t have anything holding him back from his true self. But…that would cause more problems then it would solve when John returns so he begrudgingly restrains himself. He’ll just teach you a few manners before it’s time to hand the reins back over.

“I’m sorry.” You whimper into your knees. Homelander snorts. If you were really sorry you’d get down on your knees and grovel. You’d open your mouth like a good little toy to accept whatever he decided to give you. Do you expect him to coddle you?

“I’m so so sorry. I ruined everything.” Your whiny little apology grates on his nerves. Maybe you should have thought of that before you threw your temper tantrum over a little thunder. He needs to teach you a lesson about how not to be an over-reactive little brat. He needs to teach you that your place is to make John happy and if he wants to dangle you over a pit of hungry sharks, your job should be to bat your eyes and thank him for the privilege. That’s all humans are good for.

“You did.” He replies blankly. You sob and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What the actual fuck, John? At least the last one wasn’t such an incompetent waste of space.”

There’s no answer so he must be hiding in shame. Pathetic.

“Stop fucking crying. You’re giving me a headache.” He grumbles. You do stop and you finally raise your head to look at him. Your lips tremble but the hurt in your eyes slowly morphs into a sharpness that’s intriguing.

“That’s better. Y’know…you really fucked up kiddo. But there’s always room for a redemption arc. I’ll let you make it up to me.” He says smugly. You give one last disgusting sniffle before you grab a tissue from the couch side table to wipe your nose. Your eyes are wary and suspicious. You blink away your tears. He’s surprised. As insipid as you are, you seem to have noticed that there is something different about your “friend.” Although…he supposes it isn’t that difficult when you’re used to getting smoke blown up your spoiled ass.

“Make it up to you?” You repeat slowly, as if it’s some ridiculous suggestion. “Sure, I’ll make you whatever you want! I only have ingredients for brownies at the moment but I can run to the…” He cuts you off with a gesture as he grits his teeth. He can’t stand your rambling. Why do you always seem to think he cares about what you have to say?

“No. Your baking isn’t special.” He ignores the flash of angry hurt that crosses your face. “I’m going to need something really good if I’m going to excuse your behavior.”

Your mouth twitches as if you’re about to answer but he can smell iron when you bite your lip hard enough to split it. You crumple the snotty tissue in your fist.

“Do you want to know what that is?” He asks with a tilt of his head. “Go on…ask me.”

You don’t answer but you continue to meet his gaze with suspicious eyes.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. But you’re going to have to adjust your attitude or this will be a lot harder than it has to be.” He saunters over with his hands crossed under his cape until he’s looming over you on the couch. You shrink back and he’s filled with a sick sense of pleasure at your fear. It’s not as much as he was expecting but he can work with that. “You are going to wipe those pathetic tears off your face, grow a fucking spine, and I’m going to fly you back out into the storm as long as I please until you’re cured of this ridiculous attitude.”

“No!” You shout and the surprise of it causes him to step back. “I’m sorry I hit you. I am. I truly am. But I’m not going back out there. I won’t!”

Homelander crouches and like a snake his hand darts out to grab your chin with a bruising grip. You whimper painfully as he tilts your face up and he leans in close enough to kiss you if he wanted.

“Do it or I’ll make you.” He hisses and his eyes flare red. He can hear your heart beating quickly in your chest like a little hummingbird. He imagines crushing it in his fist. You flinch back at the heat but he’s surprised at the way your expression doesn’t falter. He’s starting to realize he might have been wrong about you. You’re tougher than you look. You scrunch your brow and your eyes are full of uncertainty. Yet your chin still juts out with foolish bravery and righteous indignation. It’s cute. If he squints he can almost get what John sees in you.

“That’s not a choice because I can’t say no.” You reply. He laughs. Did… The laugh turns into a wheeze. Did you really think he is truly giving you a choice? What fucking planet are you from? He’s decided that he does like you. You’re fun to play with. He wishes he was allowed to break you…that’s always the part he likes the most.

“You can say no.” He purrs, releasing your chin to run a finger down your cheek. You shudder at the unexpectant gentleness.

“I can?” You reply quietly, voice shaky with uncertainty. But if you see the trap then you’re good at ignoring it. If you don’t then you’re just stupid. “Well…then I’m saying no.”

Just stupid then.

“Alright.” He answers, his hand now gripping the back of your neck firmly. You blink owlishly when you try to pull away only to meet an iron resistance. Your heart skips an anxious beat.

“Are you going to let me go now?” You ask shakily and he’s almost admiring of your stubborn idiocy.

“When did I say I was letting you go?” He leans in to whisper in your ear. He can’t resist nibbling a bit and you jump and shiver against him. He inhales deeply.

You’re wet.

“You…you just said I could say no.” You fight his hold once again but he only tightens his grip until you start to wince.

“Yes, and you’ve said it. But I never said it meant you could leave.” His voice lowers to a growl. “Now, you’re going to be obedient or I’m going to get creative.”

He reaches his other hand down to stroke the inside of your thigh. You inhale sharply and he groans at the scent of you on his tongue. Maybe this is why John is so pussy whipped when he hasn’t even tried you out yet. You smell fucking delicious. He wonders what you’d do if he buried his face between your legs just to breathe you in. He would…if he wasn’t determined to teach you a lesson first.

“Who are you?” You ask bluntly. The accusation in your voice takes him by surprise. He tilts his head curiously. Aren’t you a clever bug?

“I’m the Homelander” He replies, his hand sliding high until his fingers brush against the apex of your thighs. You jolt and slap your hand down on top of his, although your scent only grows stronger at his bold touches. Your cheeks are warm now too. Homelander scoffs. John should have been giving you what you need. You’re woefully deprived of attention when even a threat has you dripping for his touch. John doesn’t even know what he’s missing.

“You’re not him!” You argue with him and fuck you are cute when you’re all in a tizzy. You’re so convinced that your “hero” is a gentleman. It’s so hilariously misguided. “I don’t know who you are but you’re different. You’re wearing his skin or something. I know him and he’s not perfect but he wouldn’t treat me like thi…!”

“Do you want to know all the disgusting thoughts he’s had about you?” He strokes the inside of your thigh and feels incredibly smug at the adorable look of pure shock on your face. Your mouth drops open and your eyes grow round as saucers. The heat in your cheeks floods your body from the top of your ears to the tips of your toes. You wriggle in his grip but he moves his hand to cup you boldly. You let out a broken whine.

“While you were daydreaming about your “Prince Charming” he was coming his brains out thinking about his tongue in that wet little pussy of yours.” He leans forward to purr in your ear. His fingers are still but he refuses to move his hand from its home between your legs. You whimper and bite your swollen lip, still split from your teeth earlier.

“He pretends to be such a gentleman, thinking that’s what you want. But it’s not what you want, is it?” He chuckles darkly. “Did you know that he can smell whenever you get wet? You’d prance around like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth but brown sugar wasn’t the only thing filling his nose.”

“WHO ARE YOU?!” You yell and you shove against his chest. He reluctantly pulls away. He’s too curious as to what you think you’re going to do with your pitiful human bravery.

“I’m a friend of his. I help him whenever he needs.” He answers, leaning back on his heels to give you a little space. You cross your legs immediately but the way you shift lets him know that it’s not purely out of modesty. You filthy little slut. He’d take care of you better than John ever could.

“Where’s my Homelander?” You push.

An unexpected flash of jealousy burns in his chest.

“I am your Homelander! I’m just…a different part of him, I suppose.” He replies, as a wicked wicked thought enters his mind. “But…if you want him back, you’ll need to coax him back. You hurt his feelings pretty badly. He needs some reassurance.”

“What kind of reassurance?” You reply warily.

He gives you a smile that would put a shark to shame.

He was planning to punish you. He wanted to teach you to mind your manners. He wanted to show you your place. But now…his idea of where that is has shifted. After all his hard work over the years keeping John safe, he deserves a little treat for himself. It’s time for him to get some sugar.

“I bet that sweet body of yours would get him back here pretty quick.” He reaches out to rest a hand on your knee. He expects you to flinch but all you do is take a slow shaky inhale. It’s almost as if you knew it was all going to lead to this point. He squeezes just a little and a soft noise escapes your lips.

“He’ll come back? Will he… I mean…we’re a thing kinda and I don’t know if he’d want…” You can’t quite articulate what you're trying to say but he’s enjoying watching you try. He knows what you mean anyway. You’re worried that you’ll be cheating on him with himself. The situation is so bizarre that he can’t help but laugh.

“If it makes you feel better, all I want is a taste. I’ll leave that cherry for him.” He gives a reassuring pat to your knee. “Besides, same guy just different…perspectives.”

You swallow thickly and don’t meet his gaze but when he kneels and gently peels your legs apart, he doesn’t meet any resistance. Not that it would matter if you did resist, but it’s nice to have your cooperation. He groans low in his throat as he yanks you forward and you gasp as he buries his nose in the wet spot soaking through your sleep shorts.

No panties either…naughty

He breathes you in hungrily, growling against the damp fabric. His hands grip your hips firmly to hold you in place. Your heart is beating quick like a little rabbit as you struggle to keep your breathing steady at the onslaught of sensation. He should send John a gift basket for fucking up because he can’t remember the last time he indulged in this. He’s used to backseat driving but to have control of the wheel…he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to give your sweet pussy up. He wouldn’t need your approval, just your wet cunt wrapped around him as he fucks you stupid. You would simply have to forget about any life beyond his bed.

He nuzzles further into you and he’s pleasantly surprised when you shyly grip his hair. You’re barely even tugging but just the brush of your fingers against his scalp is making his cock throb against the cup of his suit. He can feel the hard nub of your clit bump against his nose through your shorts. He pinches the inside of your thigh to make you jump and squeal. He barely used any pressure but the skin is already turning red. It’ll probably bruise and Homelander finds he really likes that. He likes the idea of leaving a mark on you that’s his and not John’s.

He finally decides to take a taste so he tugs the gusset of your tiny little shorts to the side and wastes no time licking a stripe up your pretty cunt. You’re dripping like a slut and the sweet musky taste of you has him bucking into the air. He makes himself comfy as he lifts your legs onto his shoulders. He can’t see anything past your pussy but he just knows that your toes are curling as he occupies himself with sucking on your clit. Your grip on his hair finally graduates to sharp yanks with every fresh bolt of pleasure that courses through you.

For all of John’s fantasies, none of them came close to what it’s like to actually tongue your hole till you squeal.

“Homelander” You moan and his hips buck into the air. You sound so good when you say his name.

“You’ve been starving for this, haven’t you? Despite acting like such a cocktease in your little strawberry apron. Although I’m surprised, as much as he’s watched you…shhh shh shhh oh yes he has. As much as he’s watched you he never saw you playing with that needy cunt of yours. Don’t tell me you’re such a goody two shoes that you don’t even get yourself off?” He slaps your ass for good measure and he can feel you pulse against his tongue. John wouldn’t be happy that he exposed his dirty secret but if the cat is already out of the bag, he doesn’t see the point in trying to shove it back in. Especially when it’s so fun to play with.

“S-shower.” You choke out and he hums in understanding. John had no problems rubbing one out while watching you sleep but he did have his boundaries. He never watched you in the bathroom. Homelander snorts and chuckles to himself. Shows what happens when you play along with human morality, you tend to miss the good stuff.

“Showerhead? Or do you have one of those toys suctioned to the wall of the shower so you can fuck away at it.” He teases before inserting two of his thick gloved fingers. You’re too wet for much friction but the stretch makes you cry out in shock. He knows it must be so intense for you. Especially with how fucking tight you are. “Hmmm I don’t think it’s the second one. I can barely even stuff a couple fingers in you.”

“Fuck!” You sob and the curse feels like a victory. John’s never heard you cuss like this. He reaches down with his free hand to unclick his belt and pull his cock out. He stokes in time with the throbbing of your clit under his tongue.

“That’s it. Show me how filthy you are” He growls.

He curls his fingers and he rapidly has to remove his hand from his cock to steady you before you buck off the couch. Your legs are shaking. He isn’t even close to being through with you. John is just going to have to wait his fucking turn.

“So good!” You cry out and it’s like a shockwave to his system. “You’re so good. Feels so good.��

Homelander moans like a whore into your clenching cunt. Your praise hitting something devastating inside him. His grip on you flexes and his cock bobs. He sucks on your clit again just to hear it. He softens his kisses till they’re teasing and playful instead of the all consuming overwhelm like before. You tug his hair pleasantly and he hums.

The air feels thick as reality starts to melt a little at the edges. Each desperate compliment that falls from your lips has him feeling like he’s in a dream. He’s far away and up close all at once. The warm weight of your legs on his shoulders is soothing. He scissors his fingers, stretching you out further as he laps at your clit.

“You’re so good to me.” You sigh and the air swims. He nips at your thigh, sucking a bruise to match the one from his pinch earlier. Something inside him is aching to be rougher, firmer, meaner. It’s tempting. But he doesn’t want to treat you like that. You’re better than all those other vermin. You deserve to be worshiped.

“So pretty.” His moan is muffled by your pussy. “Pretty and mine.”

“Homelander!” You cry out and he holds you gently but firmly as you writhe.

You come hard under his tongue and he pumps his fingers as he milks you of your release. He presses his tongue flat to your clit to feel you shudder and your moans are like music to his ears. You taste so fucking good, better than anything he could have imagined on his own. He laps against you lazily as he tries to prolong this dream as much as possible. He doesn’t want to face the way he left you. He wants to be your good boy just like this.

He licks his lips and sighs. He waits for that uncomfortable ache of returning to reality, of having to leave this cozy escape he’s found himself in. His mirror self is probably still handling everything. But as he catches his breath it occurs to him that this feels all too realistic. He doesn’t remember anything when he hides. It’s always a blip in lost time and he’s back. Why is he dreaming now?

A horrifying realization hits him.

He scuttles backward and your legs hit the floor with an ominous thump. You stare at him dazed and a swirling mass of anxiety builds in his stomach. What did he do to you? Did he…? Did you…? What if you didn’t want…? He shakes his head and shrinks away from your increasingly concerned stare.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t know. I didn’t mean…” His words stutter. He’d been so good for you for so long. Now he’s ruined it all. He shouldn’t have ran. He should have been brave. He should have been good.

“Homelander?” You say softly, you shakily stand from the couch and wobble over to him. You crouch and reach out to cradle his head in your hands. He can’t meet your eyes. He’s terrified of what he’ll find. His chin is still soaking and it causes his cock to twitch despite his best efforts. He suddenly reaches down to fumble with putting his cock back in his pants upon realization of his exposure. An embarrassed tear almost escapes before it’s tenderly wiped away by your thumb.

“My Homelander.” You say so fondly that he can’t help but meet your eyes. He doesn’t expect what he finds. You’re looking at him like he hung the moon, all dewy eyed and soft. You look at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen.

“I…” He manages to choke out but even that dies in his throat.

You practically tackle him as you pepper his face in kisses. You don’t seem to mind the taste of yourself as you press your lips everywhere you can. Your previous anger over the storm seems to have dissolved in your eagerness to see him. Once he’s over his shock, he wraps his arms around you as tight as he can and tries not to cry in relief.

You aren’t angry. You don’t hate him. He’s yours.

“Told you I’d take care of it. Don’t fuck things up with her again.”

“I won’t.” He whispers fervently into your shoulder.

“I might not let you have her back next time.”

Homelander is too busy loving you to think too much about the implications of that. All he knows is that he’ll never doubt that voice in the mirror again.

[withacapitalp]

All this was inspired by listening to She’s So Overrated by Madilyn Bailey so fair warning LMAO. Also this got SO MUCH LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO IM SORRY IT WAS JUST ME WRITING DOWN AN IDEA......

Okay so I’m having thoughts about modern AU lead singer Eddie Munson who’s been in the industry for years with the boys. Corroded Coffin is a staple of the metal industry, but for a few years he’s been feeling really stalled in his career and just stuck in place. He’s still making music, still performing, but he feels like he’s getting farther and farther from that kid who used to scream and sing in his closet bedroom in the shoebox apartment he used to share with Wayne. 

So when he and the boys are in an interview and the interviewee brings up how “King” Steve Harrington from The Four is trying to reinvent himself with the help of former bandmate Robin Buckley, Eddie goes off. He works himself up into a little tizzy, ranting Munson Doctrine style about how a former teen pop star trying to become some second rate folk singer isn’t anything special, and that he wouldn’t be caught dead cashing in like that. 

That Steve’s music is bad (even though he’s honestly never listened to it) and “King” Steve is overrated. How even Beiber is better than him. He’s just bullshit. 

Of course the interview goes viral, and finds its way to Steve and Robin. Robin listens to it first and she doesn’t want Steve to watch it. She knows how close things like this cut him (especially that word), and how he’s been dealing with a lot of hate from everyone even from former fans who are confused by the sharp contrast of his new music- aka the music he’s finally being allowed to write now that he’s broken away from his momager- but Steve makes her show him. 

She’s sure that she’s going to have to spend the next week rebuilding his confidence. 

And instead, Steve’s lip curls into a smile, and he grabs his songbook, telling her to find her guitar. 

Eddie wakes up five days after the interview to a huge flood of social media notifications, a dozen missed calls from the boys and his manager and his uncle. He ignores them all and goes to see what he fucked up this time. 

Eddie opens Youtube and it’s at the top of his recommendations. The thumbnail is Steve and Robin sitting together with a guitar in her lap. The title of the video is just one word. 

Bullshit. 

This can’t be good. 

Eddie listens to it even though he doesn’t want to. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a coward. Not anymore. He listens to it because he has to know how much he’s fucked up. 

And then he listens to it again. And again. And again. 

It gets stuck in his head. All of it. Not just the song (which admittedly is pretty killer) but also hearing the flippantly mean words he had casually thrown at Steve being shoved back in his face. He had seen Steve as an abstract thing, just a symbol of everything wrong with the industry, not a real person. And now this actual human being that he’s hearing has turned all of that garbage into a song that feels more genuine then most of the music on the last two albums he wrote himself. A song that has heart, joy, and a strong current of pain underneath, especially in the bridge where Steve just sings the word bullshit over and over. 

There’s even more than that. He also sees the way Robin and Steve interact while they’re working the smiles, the jabs, the silly little way Steve bobs his head along as he listens to her play, the way they both collapse into giggles at the end as Steve directly quotes the part of the interview where Eddie said that Steve “is just another laundry basket devil trying to act like a big shot now that he’s too old for teen girls to moon over.” 

He can’t remember the last time he and the boys had that much fun making a song. 

Hell, Eddie even sees their apartment. It’s a pretty nondescript room, but he can see the wear and tear on the furniture, the cobwebs in the corners of the room, the slightly drooping houseplant with the name “Dart” lovingly painted on its pot. It feels like a home, and as Eddie looks around at the bedroom in his far too big mansion, he feels even more like a fraud. 

Eddie listens to the song on repeat for most of the morning. In the afternoon he finally answers everyone, and starts to put his plan into motion. 

By that evening he’s on the phone with Steve asking him and Robin to help Corroded Coffin write their next song. 

[wallflowerimagines]

Howdy dowdy, Partner. It's me, ya boi, Skinny Penis.

How would the Lords react to a selectively mute S/O? Especially their reaction to them talking to them for the first time.

I have this mental image of Heisenberg's S/O saying something really casually (while they're relaxing or something), and he just whips around to look at them and he just shouts "hoLY FUCK!"

Saw the first line of this ask and then it was followed by a cute prompt????---

Warnings: swearing, my typical brand of silly

Alcina Dimitrescu

She's so used to your quiet demeanor it's to the point where she COMPLETELY forgot that your silence is a choice.

Alcina quite honestly never expected you to speak to her, and she was mentally planning for the rest of your relationship to be this way -- all of the servants are learning to sign, just in case, and she has pens and paper in every room if you prefer to write as your form of communication.

When you do finally speak up, she's frozen. What.

Oh. You can. You...can speak?

It's one of the times you've ever seen Alcina baffled, because honestly? She has no idea what to do.

However, you can bet she IMMEDIATELY analyses the situation in order to make sure she can get you to keep talking to her. Whatever made this happen needs to be repeated as much as possible -- Now that she knows you can be made comfortable enough to speak, she needs to hear you speak again.

(It might not have been your intention, but you hit her right in the superiority complex. Her partner spoke to HER. JUST her. Exclusively. Alcina is going to be riding this high for decades)

The Lady Dimitrescu is a big believer in positive reinforcement with her loved ones, so you better believe that every time you speak she is extra affectionate, because she does like to hear your voice!💞

Essentially, you have prompted constant affection DO NOT RESIST---

Donna Beneviento

I mentioned this in my other Donna x Mute reader post, but Donna is able to relate to a mute s/o a lot.

She's pretty nonverbal herself, so often you two have moments of quiet peace, where the two of you are doing your own thing together in the same room, taking breaks only to hold hands, cuddle, and kiss each other sweetly.

Truly dreamy💕💕💕

The first time you speak to her though, she's sewing a new outfit for one of her dolls, while you're reading in the setee beside her.

You peak over her shoulder, clear your throat and say: "You're really talented, Donna".

She drops a stitch.

Her face is burning underneath her veil. The first thing you say to her is a complement??? About a skill she is actually proud of??? That's already enough to get her heart stuttering, but you said her name.

It feels like such a small thing, but it sends Donna into a tizzy. Your lips formed the syllables of her name, and she can't get over it. You said a compliment and her name in the same sentence.

She's swooning. Smitten. Overcome.

Expect some flustered giggling and a compliment in return.

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore has no chill whatsoever.

He literally drops everything and scuttles across the room to stand in front of you, flitting his hands around you in excitement, not quite touching you but close.

He's! So! Excited!

He didn't process what you even said-- you SPOKE TO HIM!!!! Fireworks are going off in his brain, Kool and the Gang are celebrating the good times, life is beautiful and love is in the air....

Moreau is delighted by this development. You feel safe enough around him a monster to vocalize your thoughts. You trust him. He already knew you did, but this is confirmation he didn't even know he wanted. Moreau almost starts crying he's so relieved.

Meanwhile you're repeatedly trying to warn him about the disaster occurring on the stove.

"... Salvatore, honey, the pancakes are burning."

Honey???? HONEY??? Are you TRYING to kill him????

Salvatore staggers on his feet, unintentionally the most dramatic you've ever seen him.

Sighing, you hide a smile behind your palm and give him a little smooch on the cheek before you go rescue your breakfast.

Moreau flatlines. Better give him some mouth to mouth 💗.

Karl Heisenberg

Absolutely shocked the first time you speak.

He's working on a soldat, fully used to the silence as he solders body parts together to make a deadly monster worthy of murdering Mother Miranda.

"You missed a spot--"

jESUS FUCK

Very softly, you speak up again. "At the shoulder. It's not... It's not fully connected."

Heisenberg whips around to just...stare??? At you for a bit?? His face is totally expressionless, but make no mistake his brain is reeling.

What is he supposed to do here? You feel comfortable enough to talk with him--this is a big deal, right? Is he supposed to comfort you? Praise you?

Still, it's not in Heisenberg's nature to make a big deal of things, and he doesn't want to spook you.

Eventually he nods, grunts in acknowledgement, and gets back to work.

Still, your words ring in his ears. Your voice fits you so well? He never really thought about what you sounded like before, but honestly now it's all he can think about.

Much later, when you almost forget about the whole thing, he'll offhandedly say he's proud of you for finally speaking up for yourself.

It's kinda condescending? But you know Heisenberg pretty well, and the fact he refuses to meet your eyes let's you know he's just being his normal, socially stunted self.

Thank him for the "compliment" and you'll get a pleased grin back, as well as a teasing hair ruffle. He's...happy you're comfortable with him.

It just makes your relationship feel even more right. ❤️

[604to647]

At First Light

1.5K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Detective Rockford returns to you in the morning.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, consensual somnophilia, unprotected PiV, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), a little bit of dirty talk/praise.

A/N: A direct follow-up to Into the Night, but as with all one-shots in The Rockford Portfolio, can be read alone. Dedicated to @milla-frenchy who is always so supportive of soft!Tim and whose 5 Days somno fic I reread recently and it sent me into a tizzy 🤭💕

Photography inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

Gentle.  Quiet.

Every move Tim makes as he comes home is soft, nearly soundless – from the slow turn of his key in your door, to the way he gingerly places it in the bowl so that the clinking of his keys with yours is imperceptible.

Shoes are toed off with the greatest of care.  Every step he takes that brings him closer to you is gentle.

Quiet.

It’s as if the night’s chaos and the duty that pulled him from the warmth of your bed earlier have no place within these walls; stopped from entering by an invisible barrier fiercely guarded by the very notion of your peace and steady calm.

Dawn is about to break by the time Tim pads into the bedroom, the darkness outside the window struggles to hold onto its last few moments of dominance before the sun pierces through the obsidian sky with its bright, splinter-like rays.

You’re exactly where he left you: soft body sunk deep into the mattress, top bare and uncovered, the elegant curve of your back on full display for him.  Your arms securely hug the pillow your cheek is burrowed into; Tim wonders if you pretend it’s him when he’s away.  The thought brings a smile to his weary face.

Everything below your torso is wrapped in a tangle of sheets, as if your legs attempted a bid for naked freedom during your slumber and gave up halfway.  Tim’s eyes greedily rake past the dip of your lower back to where the crisp cotton sheets drape modestly and licks his lips when he spies a hint of the top of your luscious ass.

Minutes go by without any big movements from either one of you; Tim simply watches you sleep and admires how your body starts to glow in light of the rising sun, beckoning him to touch you.  He allows the steady rise and fall of your chest and soft purr of your breathing to calm and soothe him. 

In and out.  In, he’s home safe, and out, where the dangers of his work cannot reach.  In. Out.

And just as his body fully unwinds and settles into a relaxed state, a reawakened urgency itches in his hands and twitches his hardening cock when Tim remembers his earlier parting words to you, a vow made in the dead of night:

“The sooner you’re asleep, the sooner I’ll be fucking you awake, baby.”

You would be mad at him if he didn’t keep his promise.

Tim’s body moves as if on silent autopilot: he locks away his firearm before undressing, clothes that still carry the faint scent of adrenaline and fear dropped in the hamper and leather gun holster hung on your bed post where you like it.  He wills himself to pause in the doorframe of the bathroom after a quick clean-up; though his now naked body still bears the marks of grit and tension from tonight’s standoff, the hands that will touch you are clean and the face that will press against yours has been rinsed.  Tim tugs at his already throbbing length as he gazes upon the goddess who calls to him even in her sleep, blissfully unaware that her very existence keeps him safe and brings him home.

You don’t stir when the mattress dips from Tim’s added weight, and not even when he carefully unravels the Gordian knot of sheets that stand between him and what’s his.

When your supple form is finally fully revealed, Tim presses his face to the nape of your neck in worship – inhaling your sweet perfume and pressing soft kisses to your back before sliding his firm and restless hand up your inner thighs.  He finds you wet and wanting, a shameful mixture of your combined release from the previous evening and new arousal that leaked from your needy hole while you dreamt of him returning home to you, safe.

Hungrily running two thick fingers through your slick drenched folds, Tim draws a small whimper from your lips, but the peaceful countenance of your pretty face convinces him that you remain asleep.

“She’s so desperate for me already, baby,” Tim groans into your hair as he shifts your hips and leg so he can line himself up with your entrance.

He takes your soft sigh as agreement.

“It’s okay, Shutterbug.  I’m desperate for her too.” And slowly, Tim starts to push in.

You’re tight from taking him without much warning, though the squelching noises of your cunt and the soft moans that start to escape your throat reassure Tim that the intrusive stretch is more than welcomed.  One of Tim’s meaty hands grasps your waist to hold you steady so he can continue to sheath in while the other snakes beneath you to cup a naked breast.

Strumming your hardened nipple to the quiet beat of his own grunts and your quickening breaths, Tim finally bottoms out.  You’re hugging his cock so snug within your warm walls, it feels so good – the tender kisses that Tim plants down your neck devolve into nips and sucks as he starts to loosen the reins on his restraint.

“Oh Tim, baby,” you shudder, slipping slowly into consciousness.

“Needed you, gorgeous,” he apologizes with a bite to the sweet spot at the base of your neck, soothing it over with a lick of his tongue.

Awakening a little more, you show him there’s nothing to apologize for by pulling the hand that holds your waist up to your neglected breast, guiding Tim to grope and knead the way you like before rocking back gently against his dick.

“Love it when I wake up to your cock, Detective,” you sleepily coo, the giddy sensation of waking up to the man you love taking you, claiming you for himself causes fresh a wave of arousal to drip from your cunt and trickle down Tim’s balls.

“Said I would fuck you awake, didn’t I?” smirks Tim, using his strong nose to nudge your face towards his; he kisses you hello, deep and passionate.

Grinning dreamily, your own vision is still blurry with sleep, but you can read the devotion and desperation in Tim’s pleading touch and you raise your arms to reach back around his neck, as if to hold on, “So fuck me, baby.”

Never one to deny you anything, he does.  Tim fucks you slow and intense at first - sawing in and out of your cunt with such reverence, your whole body starts to hum.  Then he fucks you hard and furious, letting himself finally lose the control that his police work requires he maintain at all times; he grabs roughly at your breasts and drinks in your heady moans as he continues to bring you back to life.  Tim fucks you wide awake and fully conscious, until you’re bright eyed and your voice crescendos loud and clear enough to wake all your neighbours at this ungodly hour.  He rolls and pulls on your nipples as he thrusts deep into your cunt, causing you to double over with a pleasure so intense that your body attempts an escape.  Tim bands a strong forearm over your tits to press you flush against his hard chest, begging you to stay with him with his never-ending praise:

Taking me so good, baby.

I love you so fucking much. 

Pussy feels so fucking perfect creaming around my cock.

You’re all I ever think about, Shutterbug.

You cry back your own barely coherent love you, love you, so big, fuck, fuck, no one fucks me like you, love yous.  Pulling Tim’s face down to yours as he starts to spell out his ownership over your clit with his rough thumb, you devour him hungrily - owning his mouth right back.  Every fear that hid in your heart when he left in the middle of night is evicted from your chest as Tim continues to pound into you - those fears have no place in the newness of morning; he’s home, he’s safe.  You allow yourself to let go to the feeling of relief that this thought brings, crying out Tim’s name like an appreciative mantra.  Tim follows shortly after, his own release similarly heavy with the relief of being able to put the night behind him, grateful for the privilege of coming home to you.  His home.

Even after your heartbeat slows to normal, you remain in Tim’s embrace; his cock slowly softening in you while he presses kiss after kiss to your sweet smile. “You came back to me safe, Detective Rockford,” this oft spoken soft declaration always full of gratitude and awe, as if you have to say it out loud in order for it to be true.

“Nothing can keep me from you, Shutterbug,” Tim knows that his familiar response is truer than you can ever fathom; your love makes him a better detective, a more careful detective – one who’s just as driven to come home as he is to close a case.  Tim wonders if you know the power that you hold over him?  He’s too sleepy right now to ask you – maybe he will later; for now, he simply murmurs ‘Love you’ as he closes his tired eyes and gives himself over to the peace that he’s only ever been able to find in your arms.

[anastasiabowe]

“…ᴀᴏᴍɪɴᴇ.”

Aomine was playing basketball with random people at the basketball courts down the block from his house. You were walking with friends, when you saw him dominating them all.

You gasp and run to the tall fence that surrounded the court.

“Aominichi!” Your pretty voice called out to him. Your friends giggling at the other men who were shirtless and sweaty.

He looked back at you and his energy was… off, but you obviously didn’t notice!

You ran around to where the fence gate was, and your friends followed in awkwardness. You ran to the bench where his stuff was, and he walked over to you, looking a bit annoyed.

“Can you not be here right now…” he looked off to his left and it seems like he was a bit embarrassed you were here.

“I wanna watch you play!” Your bright smile beamed at him, his gloomy cloud not faltering around his head.

“I kinda came here to play to get my mind of things, and you are kind of not helping.”

“Well, I promise I won’t say anything!” Your voice was getting whinier, babier, and he wanted to yell at you so you can take a hint.

“Please, just go do something else away from me.” His voice didn’t sound so cautious anymore, he sounded mean.

“But aomi-“

“Y/n, can you ever just get the fucking hint? Right now I don’t want to hang out with you, I don’t want to hear you, I don’t want to see you!” His voice raised, and your friends looked at him in annoyance.

Your friend tizzy understood him, but understood you more so she helped you up and walked you away, your other friend Kira glared at him.

“Still got a small dick I see,” She spat and looked him up and down. “Fucking bitch.” She walked away towards you both and you were now holding back tears.

Aomine pinched his bridge and turned back to the game. Everyone looked a bit upset at him, not a single person in the mood to play the fun game they were before.

“What?” He annoyingly asked them.

“Who talks to their girl like that? Especially a cute one?” One said.

“Yeah dude, you’re lucky you have a girl that wants to spend time with you.” Another said.

“Would hate to date someone like you.” One whispered.

“Right.” Another agreed.

Aomine rolled his eyes, but truly, he knows they’re right.

“Y/n, please stop crying! He’s probably just in some mood!” Tizzy rubbed your back at a bench far far far from the basketball court.

“He-he’s always in ‘some mood’!” I wiped my eyes, and Kira looked like she was about to kill someone.

“He’s such a dick! You are such a great person, and he is basically using you. I think you should have dated Kagami or some rival of his.” Kira angrily said.

“No, I-I love Aominichi!” My tears finally drying up.

Kira cringed. “He doesn’t deserve to be called ‘Aominichi’,” she mocked in a Whitney voice, not mocking you though.

“Thanks guys, I-i think I wanna go home for now.” I softly said, standing up.

“Do you want us to hang with you, or do you want some alone time?” Tizzy offered.

“I just wanna play with Loki and be alone.” I smiled. They hugged me and we parted ways.

I had walked down to the train and got on. My phone dinged and I looked at it.

Aominichi💗: Hey, can we talk?

I opened the message and closed it, I wanted him to know I read his message but don’t care. Yeah, it hurt to do that, I love talking with him, but again, like many times, he hurt me and I can’t give in to that!

Another ding.

Aominichi💗: come on Y/n don’t ignore me😒

I opened it again and closed it.

I finally reached my house, and outside was Aomine.

“Shit.” I groaned to myself. I walked through my gate and right part him, I didn’t even give him a glance. I opened my door and tried to shut it, but he pushed it open.

“Y/n, talk to me.” He sounded irritated. Good.

“I have nothing to say to you, Aomine.” The name you gave him struck his heart. Yeah it’s his name, but you’ve never, no matter how upset you were, you never called him by his actual name.

“Y/n, come on-“

“I have nothing to say to you.” I grabbed Loki and sat on my couch. The white cat glared at Aomine, knowing he did something wrong.

Aomine stood there like “🧍🏻”.

I looked at him, heart hurting. I’m not a cold person, this kills me more than it kills him.

“I’m sorry,” He finally said. I looked at him and wanted to hug him, but no. “You know how I get!”

“Mhm.” At this point my cold facade was faltering, tears burning at the back of my eyes. My throat was starting to close and tense.

He walked over to me and got on his knees.

“I love you so much, please forgive me.” His hands clasped together and his eyes wide.

“If you loved me you wouldn’t treat me so bad.” A pout formed on my face, slowly giving into his apology.

“I know, I’ll work on it.”

After looking at him, seeing him on his knees asking for forgiveness was not like him, so I guess I could forgive him.

“Alright, I forgive you.” I smiled and his face lit up, but then a smug look appeared on his face.

“Yep. Don’t think I’m getting on my knees for you ever again.” He hopped on his feet and leaned over to kiss me.

“But seriously, I’ll work on my attitude.”

“I know you will.” I smiled and he rolled his eyes.

“Also never call me Aomine again. Doesn’t sound right coming from you.” His face cringed at his own name.

“Yeah, yeah, you big baby.”

[ssweetleaf]

just like heaven. part ii

| part i |

pairing— best friend’s brother!steve harrington x fem!reader

♡ summary— after catching steve in the act, you couldn’t help but admit to him how much you enjoyed his little show.

♡ includes— SMUT 18+, perv!steve, slight perv!reader, cum eating?, tit worship?, praise, unprotected p in v (please don’t do this in real life, use protection), size kink (in the steve being hung kinda way), creampie, breeding kink, terrible ending because i’m so bad at endings sorry!!!!

˖ ࣪⭑

“I-I can explain!”

Steve rushed to pull up his boxers, fist all sticky and warm, smearing against the fabric when he tucked himself inside. He really couldn’t explain, not really, not when you had watched the whole thing— his big hand enveloping his cock and stroking it like his life depended on it, your name trickling from his lips all slurred and breathy whilst he came in thick, long ropes.

Yeah, he was totally screwed.

You were as quiet as a mouse, stood awkwardly against his door, mouth stuttering like a fish out of water, just wondering what on earth to say in a moment like this— especially now that your thighs were clamped shut, rubbing together to try and get a little friction on your poor little clit when it started to pulse.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry— I know this is a little strange,” he rushed, sitting up now, thinking of reaching out for you, but deciding against it considering the state of his hand. “J-just please don’t be freaked out.”

Your eyes were as wide as saucers, blinking down at him with fluttering lashes, eyes flitting between his honeyed irises and his softening cock from underneath the confines of his boxers. Back and forth, back and forth— it didn’t help that it was still so big, clouding your mind with the filthy thoughts of getting fucked by your best friend’s older brother.

“Please don’t tell Tiffany, she’ll fucking kill me—” he rambled on and on, pleading you and apologising, though you weren’t really listening, too focused on the way the lower part of his stomach glistened with the sticky traces of his pearly cum. “—I’ll do anything, I swear! I’ll—”

“Steve-” you spoke, voice cracking a little from your lack of speech, huffing a little when he didn’t listen, just continuing his uttering, brows furrowed and his chest heaving, hair all haphazard and messy from his hands constantly tugging at it.

“I’ll understand if you never want to speak to me again, it’s just—”

“Steve!” His gaze snapped up towards you, bottom lip suckled between his teeth and he had to try and stop the sudden throbbing of his cock— you were a fucking picture before him, skimpy shorts and all, eyes all wet and swarming with something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He wondered if that’s what your pretty eyes would look like if he had his cock down your throat, but he quickly shook that thought away.

“I’m not-” you cleared your throat, fiddling with your fingers and peering down at your feet, face flushed and searing. “I’m not freaked out, Stevie.”

Stevie. He inwardly swooned, you had been calling him that ever since Tiff had introduced the two of you, and it didn’t help the swell of his cock. Such a fucking perv, he thought to himself.

“You’re not?” His eyes were big, somewhat hopeful, shifting towards the swell of your tits from underneath your top every once in a while, gulping down the spit that gathered under his tongue at the thought of your nipples all hard and pretty, his lips wrapped around them just suckling so—

“Nope.” You shook your head, “I- well I kind of liked it, I guess.”

Your cheeks burned, a flush travelling all the way down to your neck, completely embarrassed, though you hadn’t any need to be, especially since Steve literally came at the thought of you. Enough said.

Steve’s mind was in a tizzy, lashes fluttering as if he couldn’t believe the words that you had spoken— he licked his lips, reddening them further and his mouth twitched up ever so slightly.

“You did?”

“Mhm.”

There was a beat of silence, gazes heavy and warm, gulping down breaths in his stuffy room and toeing nervously at the carpet.

“Come ‘ere,” you could barely hear him, voice so soft and smooth, eagerly watching you step towards him, standing between his legs and letting your hands clutch nervously at his bare shoulders.

His eyes traveled along your body, soaking up every little bit he could get, spying every little thing that made his cock already half-hard— the picture before him just bound to stay tucked in the back of his mind until the end of fucking time.

“So pretty,” he cooed, breathy still, transfixed on the growing wet patch between your thighs, “this all for me?”

Steve’s hand, the one not covered in cum, cupped at your mound, groaning at the feeling on his palm, all warm and wet, just begging to be taken care of.

You nodded, pout prominent on your spit-slick lips, stroking at his shoulders and down his thick biceps, squeezing softly when he put the tiniest bit of pressure upon your clit.

You caught sight of his other hand— your mouth watering, a little too eager to have a taste, running your own hand along his arm before hooking your fingertips around his wrist.

You brought his hand up to your lips, pushing two of his sticky fingers between your plush lips, eyelids fluttering closed at the salty taste on your tongue, humming around his thick digits.

“Christ-” his breath hitched, caught in his throat, completely transfixed by your sweet lips and how beautiful you looked when you had your mouth full.

You pulled them out of your mouth with a pop, lips twitching up when you caught sight of his open mouth.

“There you go, Stevie-” you were so fucking sweet, “all cleaned up.”

Any more and I’ll blow my fucking load, he thought, trying to slow his breath and compose himself, thumb tracing back and forth along the pudge of your cheek while you smiled all gooey and soft down at him.

“Didn’t think you were such a dirty girl,” he hummed, stroking his knuckles along your chin and down your neck, resting along your collarbone before his fingers wrapped loosely around your throat, bringing you forward in his hold and pressing your lips together.

The kiss was messy, full of tongue and spit, pulling back to suckle on lips and teeth clashing when you tried to get closer— you had been waiting for this, dreaming about it, just like Steve had. Fuck, you didn’t have enough fingers to count how many times you had touched yourself over the thought of him, getting all worked up if he was even in the same room as you, always fighting so hard to excuse yourself and fuck yourself knuckle-deep in their family bathroom.

And when you were walking along the landing, completely minding your own business, just wanting a glass of water from downstairs, you could hear him. Whining and moaning and crying out— the slick sounds of him fucking his fist making your mind all fuzzy and you were sure you’d started to drool, so naturally, you made your way into his room.

Fuck, I’m such a perv, you thought.

Maybe you and Steve were a lot more alike than you thought.

“Come sit in my lap, honey-” you wasted no time, pussy gushing at the rasp of his voice, rumbling throughout his chest and letting a moan slip once you scrambled up into his lap, already rutting down onto his hardness, letting your breath hitch when he kneaded the soft, doughy globes of your ass. “There you go- such a needy little thing, hm?”

You keened at his touch, sighing into the air when his mouth attached to your neck, suckling at the delicate skin, leaving little bite marks before swiping his tongue over them.

“Shit,” he muttered through kisses, mouth back on yours, still hot and sloppy, pulling back between words just to connect the two of you again. “what about Tiff?”

“She passed out a little while ago-” you whined, his fingers dipping under the elastic of your shorts and slipping beneath your underwear, middle finger running up the length of your slit, feeling how wet you were, how wet he had made you. “just want you, Steve.”

“Yeah? You wanna get fucked by your best friend’s brother—” he smirked up at you, “she’s only behind that wall, honey, and you’re still so desperate f’me.”

He used his other fingers to spread your folds apart, dipping a finger into your hole, collecting the wetness there to lube up the peak of your clit, pressing down so deliciously and rolling it between his fingers.

“So wet f’me, too,” he hummed, pressing a chaste little kiss to your flushed cheek, “can’t wait to eat this pretty pussy, bet you taste so sweet, honey.”

Your eyes began to roll back, whining at his crude words and the thought of those pretty lips of his wrapped around your clit, just suckling and licking and eating you like you were his last fucking meal.

But that was for later— he’d have his head between your thighs for as long as you’d let him, though he couldn’t resist the ache of his cock, so hard he thought he would pop and he had only came merely minutes before.

“You like the sound of that, sweet girl? Once I’m done fucking you, you can have whatever you like, how does that sound?”

You were nodding furiously, all cock-drunk and dumb, pouting at him with glistening eyes, tears starting to ebb over your waterline.

He tugged at the neckline of your top, pulling it down so the weight of your tits popped out of the material, on display for him to marvel at, nipples stiff, mouth-wateringly so.

“Been hidin’ these from me, honey-” he clicked his tongue, cupping them in his big hands and thumbing over your pebbled nipples. “how could you keep these pretty things all to yourself, hm?”

Any chance of you answering his question was out the window as soon as his lips puckered around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it before pulling away with an obscene pop.

“Oh, Stevie!” You crooned, taking a fistful of his hair, tangling your fingers into the strands and tugging at the roots, earning a few whines from him as a response. “they’re all yours— all f’you.”

He hummed at that, sponging little kisses along the valley of your tits, lips so slick and messy, you had to pull his face away he was that desperate to have your tits in his mouth.

“Stevie, come on,” you whined, pressing your mouth to his, but pulling away promptly— pout ever prominent. “Want you to fuck me.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He cooed, “gotta be patient f’me though, honey, or I won’t give you what you want.”

Steve pushed at your hips— up, up, up, he had said, helping you stand while his fingers hooked under your shorts and panties, pulling them down the thickness of your thighs and having you kick them off to the side. He made a mental note to keep them panties for later, y’know, for scientific reasons…

“Oh look at her-” he was cooing at you, almost mockingly, cupping your hot pussy and feeling you drip onto his palm. “She loves me already, honey— such a pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

You were growing restless, antsy on your feet, thighs squeezing around his wrist and clawing at his shoulders, a small Stevie, please, falling from your puffy lips, and he couldn’t deny that pretty face even if he tried.

“On the bed, baby,” he shuffled on the mattress, kneeling now, watching while you climbed onto the bed, “hands and knees- that’s it, you know what to do- such a good girl.”

You settled yourself, sinking down so your face was smushed against his pillows, your ass in the air, wiggling up at him, so eager for his cock to split you open.

His boxers were pushed to his thighs, cock hard, achingly so, his pre-cum dripping in long, silvery lines and smearing along your pussy lips when he swiped his head against you.

“Look at that, pussy’s fuckin’ drooling,” his tip swiped along your folds, nudging against your clit with every pass over and you had to bite at his pillow to stop yourself from crying out. “how bad d’you want it, sweet girl?”

“So bad, Stevie!” You whined, eyes practically rolling to the back of your skull, “want your big cock inside me- want you to stretch me out and fill me up so good!”

“Filthy girl.” He didn’t waste any time, pushing into your slick entrance, slowly inching in, feeling you stretch so deliciously around him— barely going halfway before deciding that was all you could take for now.

“S-so big,” you cried, squeezing around him and gasping breathily when he grabbed at your ass to steady you.

“Fuck- stop squeezin’ me, honey, or I’ll fucking cum.”

If you weren’t so delirious, you would’ve laughed— you probably would’ve called him pathetic, though you were sure that you were just the same.

The two of you took a breather for a minute or so, basking in the warmth of his cock inside you, filling you up to the brim, his chest pressed tightly against your back now, the course dark hairs on his chest tickling at your skin.

“Move.” Your whine was more than enough to have him pull out all the way to the tip, just to push back inside again, being careful not to give you too much— he was so big after all, so long and incredibly thick, it would be a long while of you getting used to him to take everything he endowed.

Back and forth, back and forth, thrusts so hard and reaching the deepest spots, nudging at your g-spot and causing your toes to curl— his shaky breaths fanned along your neck, lips against your ear while he let out those cute little moans.

“Shit- that’s it-” he gasped, “can feel me in your fucking guts, huh, baby?”

You were crying out, tears streaming down your puffy cheeks and soiling his pillows, meeting his thrusts as you bounced back onto his cock.

“Not gonna-” you stuttered, sobbing into the sheets at a hard jab of his cock, “can’t-”

“What is it, honey? Use your words like a big girl.”

Fuck, how could you when he was fucking you so good, practically in your stomach— you were dripping all over him, a creamy ring of your arousal around the base of his cock, and you knew that coil in your belly would snap soon.

“Not gonna last,” you sighed, “gonna cum.”

“Atta girl,” he smacked a kiss to your sweaty cheek, “cum f’me, sweet girl. Soak my fuckin’ cock.”

It was a flurry of stars and swirly sparkles when you came, flooding your irises and clouding your vision for a short while, unable to think nor see, just feel— his fat cock still pistoned inside you, and your clenching walls had his hips stuttering and his breath all heavy and hot in your ear.

“Shit— you’re creamin’ me, honey-” you felt so filthy in the best way, arching your back even further if it was even possible, craning your neck to the side to connect your mouths together, kissing and licking into his mouth, anything to muffle your moans and sharp whines— you just hoped Tiffany would stay in that deep slumber of hers.

You could feel him throbbing, stomach muscles tensing, his thrusts starting to falter and turn sloppy.

“Steve—” you kept kissing him, eyes rolling at the overstimulation, cunt completely abused and raw, though you couldn’t help the swelling of another orgasm. “Want— want your cum.”

“Christ, you can’t just say something like that,” he whined, thinking back to when he had his cock in his fist, daydreaming about you all round and full with his babies.

“I mean it, Stevie— want you to fill me up, just cum f’me, please!” The ruts he made had fastened in pace, the weight of him heavy against your back, the feeling so delicious it made your clit start to tingle again.

“Yeah, my good girl— gonna cum, fill this pussy up— make sure we don’t waste a drop, gotta make sure it takes- shit, sweetheart!” Steve was babbling, sweat dripping down his forehead and causing his hair to stick, chasing his orgasm, and after already cumming once before not too long ago, he knew it was gonna be powerful.

He spilled into you with a drawn out moan, slowing down and breathing heavier than before, thick ropes of cum painting your insides, and filling you with an endless warmth.

Steve pulled back to watch his cum dribble from around his cock, before slipping out of you, just to push back inside again, over-sensitive and quivering, making sure he stuck to his word and every drop of cum was pushed back inside you.

There was a little voice in the back of his mind, wondering what it’d be like if you did get pregnant— what would Tiff say? Shit, he couldn’t think about that, not while he was still inside you.

He felt you shift underneath him, pressing himself against your back again, sponging soft, chaste kisses to the back of your neck.

“What is it, honey?”

“Don’t want you to pull out yet.” He could tell how delirious you were, still dumb and drunk on his cock, mind all fuzzy and in a subby haze. “Want you to stay inside.”

“Alright, greedy girl,” he teased, “can stay here as long as you like.”

˖ ࣪⭑

tagging <3–

@mp0788 @angel-jz @mxrggo @palmtreesx3 @xyzstar @hornyhornyhimbos @lilyhw1 @billlosver @gabessock @siouxiesiouxtryhard @poppinmyshitatchillis @music-1d-luva @leouish @harrington-lover @freak-of-hawkins @br66klynbaby @peepoogf @aurora-austen @nyfeeer @siriuslysmoking

(some blogs i weren’t able to tag, sorry about that <33)

[artdcnaldson]

patricks sister au has me in a tizzy hes so mean my pussy is sopping wet but what if he got meaner - what if he started dating someone just to get the message across. kisses her where you can see and acts all boyfriendy. what he doesn't know is that ur certifiably insane and purposely crash dates he has with her under the guise of 'i need a ride home.' and 'i need help with homework.' art knows what you're doing, isn't impressed by it.

but one day his girlfriend takes it upon herself to snap at you - maybe you're at a party and this time its not a ploy - you really do just want to go home - and you come up to art and his girlfriend rolls her eyes like, "jesus, here comes your fucking fan club, art." looks at you like, "you know you're annoying right. that everyone knows you have a crush on him? take a fucking hint. he. doesn't. want. you."

and you get tears in your eyes, bottom lip wobbling.... you run off so you dont see the absolute look of rage that flits over arts face. the way he becomes a wall of ice. if he was mean to you the cold way he turns to his girlfriend and promptly dumps her in front of everyone is downright evil.

of course he has to come find you ☹️ and he has to say sorry ☹️ and maybe you'll forgive him and leave him alone if he tells you really truly honestly...... that he doesn't want you. and if he cant say that...... then at least, cant he be your first kiss? please? you'll milk more tears out if you have to.

GODDDD <3

It’s so obvious what you’re doing. But maybe he shouldn’t have his dates on campus, shouldn’t bring his girlfriend to parties he knows you’re going to be at. It’s like he’s asking for you to do it.

And yeah the past excuses have been total bullshit. They were so weak, not even convincing, but you could always count on Art to walk you back to your dorm with his girlfriend in tow. He stops at your door, she lingers behind, and you smile all pretty and thank him.

Alone in your room, you wonder if he’s going to take her back to his dorm to fuck her. You’ve seen the way he kisses her— sweet and gentle, the way boyfriends kiss. You wonder what it’s like when they fuck— if he keeps that same sweet, doting facade on when he’s fucking into her cunt.

Probably. Art’s sweet, he’s respectable. You’re the only one who brings out the fire in him in your brother’s absence. It must be boring when they fuck. Missionary, cowgirl, doggy when he’s feeling adventurous.

You’d never be boring for him, never let things get stale. You don’t even know why he likes her, why he wastes his time. Sure, she’s pretty, she’s… an English major? Whatever.

So the next time you’re at a party and you come up to Art, they figure it’s just jealousy. That you’re just trying to break them apart. Again.

Your DD left with a polisci major, you were drunk and ready to leave. Two hours of watching Art and his fucking girlfriend suck face and grind to shitty music had left a sour taste in your mouth. You just wanted to be home in your bed already.

So you walked up to the two of them nursing beers in a group. She rolled her eyes at the sight of you, whispered something to one of her friends. You ignored her, tugged on Art’s arm.

“Can you walk me back to my dorm, please?”

It’s supposed to be earnest, it is earnest. But Art can’t get a word in before She interrupts.

“Jesus Christ. This whole thing you’re doing isn’t cute anymore. It’s just really fucking annoying, and we’re all fucking sick of it. Find someone else to throw yourself over and leave Art alone. You’re just embarrassing him at this point.”

You try to be a Big Girl about it, to say something back, but all you can manage is a weak I’m sorry before you’re leaving with hot tears streaking your cheeks and a nauseous pit in your stomach.

You don’t hear about the aftermath until later— whispers from a friend, really. Art had laid in on her after what she said. Called her things you’d never heard him say, that you couldn’t even imagine. Calling her a fucking cunt, telling her to mind her own fucking business and keep her fucking mouth shut about you. Shoved her off of him, told her to lose his fucking number.

But you didn’t know that. All you knew was barely five minutes after you had walked into the door and crawled into bed, there was a knock on the door.

You groaned, opened the door with teary, smeared makeup and a weak frown. Because seeing Art just makes it worse.

“I’m sorry Art, I never meant to embarrass you, and I know I’ve been horrible and awful and I’ve made you do awful things, and i don’t know when to just give up and it’s not fair to you.” He walks with you into the room, shuts the door and pulls you against his chest.

He smells like cigarettes and weed and beer and his girlfriend’s perfume. It makes you cry harder. “I’m really sorry, Art. I’ll leave you alone, I promise. I’ll tell Patrick to let you off the hook, and you won’t have to see me anymore.”

He pets your hair, leans back and wipes your tears with soft brushes of his thumbs along your cheeks. “You really don’t want me?” You ask weakly. “Not even a little bit?”

He swallows hard, because he doesn’t want to lie to you. Not tonight, not when you’re already feeling so bad. But what the two of you have isn’t healthy, it’s not what you need.

You sniffle, nod. “Will you just kiss me, then? Once? Please?”

His lips meet yours gently at first, with all the sweetness you’d expected from him, the same kind of kisses he’d give a girlfriend. You feel his tongue brush against yours and moan into his mouth.

It’s short— way too short— but you lean back with your lips tasting like him and that’s all your heart can handle for the night. Really it is.

“You should go,” you say finally, blinking away your tears and wiping at your eyes. “Really, I, uh, I have plans tomorrow, so—“

You don’t have plans, none at all. But he nods, kisses your forehead once.

When you’re in bed, you open your phone, text Art. I’m really sorry. You lock it and try to sleep.